Expectations and Other Moving Pieces
by chrometurtle
Summary: Everything I had done in my life seemed to lead up to this moment. The moment when I found myself bound inextricably to a man I didn’t love, trapped in a life I didn’t want. And if I left him, I would be entirely alone.
1. The Office

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **This is my first "Twilight" fanfiction, so any feedback would be very appreciated. Also, I am in desperate need of a beta. I apologize for any grammatical errors you find here. If the first chapter peaks your interest at all and you know what the heck commas are used for, let me know. I could really use a second pair of eyes.

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**The Office**

I stood outside the door for a long time.

I wasn't pacing or biting my nails or lifting my hand up to knock before dropping it in painful indecision. I just stared at the warped flaws in the wood the same way a person would look at their own reflection in a mirror. Blood rushed and pounded through my ears much louder than it should. I could feel the flush in my face, the sweat on my palms. But I was very still.

_He won't do anything to you. He can't. _

I had no idea why he wanted to see me. I was sure it would be a long time before he spoke to me again. I was getting ready, preparing myself for long weeks of silence, alone in this giant space. Not much different from how things were just a few months ago. I hadn't expected to wake up to a note, specifying a time to meet him in his office. A time, and nothing more.

Apprehension coursed through me as I tried to predict what he would say, what he would do. But there was no way that I could imagine. I knew so little about him. Fours years of marriage and I barely knew my husband at all.

This wasn't how my life was supposed to go.

Then I heard it: his voice from behind the door. A single uttered word meant to invite me in.

He knew I was out here, knew I was waiting. How was it possible that he seemed to know _me_ so well? I supposed he didn't - couldn't - but he still saw every move I would make before I made it. He probably knew all along that it would come to this.

Then again, if he had, he probably would have done most things differently.

After all, everyone wanted to be happy. And we certainly were never happy.

My fingers brushed along the metal of the round knob lightly, just barely feeling the cold on my skin. Then I gripped it in my hand, tight and full of a confidence I didn't feel. I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

As I stepped inside, my eyes instantly sought his.

He was sitting behind his desk, leaning his elbows on the wood, his fingers tented over his mouth. He was looking at me calmly, his expression completely unreadable. The same.

"Close the door, please." His voice was quiet, but very steady. Filled with authority.

The door shut behind me with a click, my hand lingering on the wood. We were alone, no one was around to hear our conversation, but he still wanted to shut me in. He always liked me better when he had me trapped.

The silence that stretched between us was long and tense. I dropped my eyes from his face, staring down at the floor. I didn't fidget. Not for him. I shifted my weight onto my left leg and, without looking at him, I waited.

At long last I heard his hands drop softly to the desk, away from his mouth. I glanced up in time to see him lean back in the chair slightly. He hadn't taken his eyes off me yet. His gaze was hard, fixed on me like he could see everything I was trying to hide. Pounding blood, sweaty palms.

"I received a phone call from my sister in Colorado last night," he said at last, his sharp, lovely voice cutting into the silence. "My father passed away two days ago."

I was looking straight at him now, unwavering. I could feel my mouth drop open in shock. Everything I had been expecting him to say, everything I had been expecting him to tell me, I had never expected _that_.

I felt pain and the release of nerves as my eyes welled up. I tried desperately to quell them, the stinging pangs of tears. I couldn't cry for his father. Not in front of him.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, clasping my hands tightly in front of me.

His eyes narrowed and he waved his hand, brushing away my condolences. I had nothing to offer him, neither sympathy nor comfort. Nothing he would accept from me.

"I just wanted to inform you that I'm going to the Hartsel house," he shrugged. "I would have simply left you a note explaining the situation but I wanted to give you a chance to prepare. I also thought that it might have been…_unkind_."

He sneered the word at me. I flinched without meaning to.

"When will you be back?" I asked him, unable to speak with any volume. I think it was his eyes. His eyes made it impossible when they were on me.

He sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair. He lifted himself slowly from his chair, his arms pressed hard against the wood. Unfurling his scrawny, 6'2" frame should have made him more domineering. It didn't.

"You misunderstand," he said and took slow, even steps around the desk. When he reached the front he leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest.

I took an automatic step back, my shoulder blades brushing against the door behind me.

"You're coming with me," his voice still completely calm.

A gasp whirled from my lips, my brows crushed together in confusion. I looked for some indication on his face, in his expression, that he was joking. I knew I would find none.

He never joked.

"_What?_" My voice was louder than a whisper now.

"Did you not hear me?" He demanded, his mouth twisting into an unfeeling grimace. His eyes were dead and collected as he watched me.

"To Colorado?" I mumbled the question stupidly. "To the ranch house?"

"Yes." His voice was firm. It was all confidence and stability. I hated his voice.

I took a step towards him, away from the door. I could feel all the nervous energy, the desperation running through me, leaking from my pores as sweat and fear.

"You can't do this," I hissed.

His eyebrows rose slightly and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch, the beginnings of an amused smirk. He straightened, pushing his weight off the desk, and took a step towards me in response.

"I think you'll find that I _really_, really can." His voice was almost entertained.

I couldn't take this. Couldn't stand it, stand him. Talking about my life like it was a joke. Like I was just some kind of pawn to him. He had always viewed me as a possession, not a person.

But I _was_ a person.

"You can't force me to go with you," I snapped with more confidence than I felt.

Something flashed in his eyes for a moment, disrupting the calm. It was gone just as quickly, before I could identify it as anger or hate or violence or anything else he might feel when hearing even a suggestion that I wasn't his property.

"You're my wife. You will do as I say." His voice had never been so cold. Not in four years.

I crushed back the fear I felt when I looked at him. His ice, his anger. No trace of the soft, gentle man who I had agreed to marry. Time had made him into someone I didn't know.

Again, I remembered that I never really knew him.

"Not for much longer," I said, inhaling deep as I pushed the words out.

He took another step towards me and my eyes trailed down his body unwillingly. He was thin and pale, but I could still see the sinews under skin. His emotion would make him strong, his anger would make him deadly. I had never respected him physically. Never once appreciated anything about his body. It had always seemed so plain to me, so ordinary.

He was a lion now.

"Do you really think that's wise, Bella?" His question was almost taunting in its softness.

I was angry again, dissipating the brief moment of fear.

"Why the fuck not?" I ground out, harshly. "I don't love you, you don't love me. This marriage isn't…"

I trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

I had _always_ been unsure of how to finish that sentence, ever since we first took our vows. What this marriage was, what it wasn't. There was nothing to define it, not any words I could use to explain it. What started it, what held it, what made it work, what made it crumble. And what it had become now.

He was only a few steps away from me, but I didn't back away from him.

"And what will you do? Where will you go?" He asked me, demanding answers to questions that he knew had none. "You have no one."

"I..."

I had no one.

He was right.

I had given up everything to be with him, given up everyone. I had cut myself off for reasons that were my own. Reasons even _he_ never understood.

He took advantage of my hesitation.

"You're right, Bella. I _don't_ love you," he paused. His eyes were hard on mine, and I found that I couldn't look away. "But neither does anyone else."

I felt the warm of salt tears on my cheeks. I tried to brush them away quickly, but he had obviously seen them. He would know now that he had won.

Everything I had done in my life seemed to lead up to this moment. The moment when I found myself bound inextricably to a man I didn't love, trapped in a life I didn't want, unable to leave for fear of having nowhere to go. If I left him, I would be entirely alone.

In spite of everything he was, everything he had become, he was still all I had.

"Pack your things. We leave tomorrow."

Edward slammed the door behind him as he walked out.


	2. The Train

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns "Twilight". I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the couple of you who reviewed and put this story on alert, and the handful of people who decided to give it a shot and click on it. I really appreciate the feedback. Just to clarify, this _is _and ExB story. I can't guarantee a super fluffy, happy ending, but I promise it will be an interesting ride for those who decide to stick with it. If you have any questions, feel free to review or message me. Reviews are always appreciated, but only if the mood strikes you.

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**The Train**

"Get up," I heard his voice snap. At the same time I felt his hand close around one of my arms and shake firmly. My entire body moved with the force he exerted. As I blinked my eyes open I wondered if he would leave bruises. He had never put his hands on me as firm as he did now.

Rubbing sleep from my eyes quickly, I glanced around, trying to determine where we had stopped. People around me were standing up and gathering their luggage before making their way to the line where a smiling conductor was now standing, punching tickets.

I hazarded a look at Edward quickly. He was already crouched down, digging our bags out from beneath our chairs, once again ignoring me completely now that I was awake.

Feeling the slightest stir of annoyance, I grimaced down at him before glancing back towards the line.

"How long this time?" I asked, making no move to get up or help him with the bags.

"Twenty six hours," came his short reply.

Ah, the long, final stretch from Chicago to Denver.

I stood up, stretching and groaning as I tried to work the kinks and stiffness out of my neck. How long had I been asleep in that chair? I glanced over at the clock on the wall. Nearly two hours.

Edward finally managed to gather all three of our bags and swung them up over his shoulder, heading for the line without a glance at me.

I hesitated for a moment, watching him walk away, all skin and bones and lugging bags that were too heavy. But he carried them without the slightest trace of discomfort, his legs moving quickly, propelling him effortlessly away. I forced my feet to move after him, rushing slightly to catch up but never fall into stride next to him. I imagined he liked when I walked behind him.

When I walked down the steps and onto the platform, the conductor smiled at me and nodded, "Welcome aboard."

I ignored him.

Gripping the railing as I hoisted myself onto the third train in as many days, I could only feel resignation and bitterness. Looking forward to another excruciating twenty six hours sitting beside Edward, each limb numbing one by one as the time passed because he said he didn't want to waste the money on a sleeper car.

Money had never been an object before. He wanted me uncomfortable.

Sniffing, I followed closely behind him as he made his way down the aisle. He was overly careful and considerate as he moved by the other passengers, making sure not to brush against them or hit them with our luggage. Always such a well-mannered gentleman.

At last we reached our seats and he grunted as he heaved the bags up into the overhead. Without waiting for him to move, I squeezed past him – my hip skimming his thigh for a fraction of a second – and slid into the seat closest to the window.

I banged my knee on both armrests as I struggled against achy limbs and confined spaces. I didn't flinch, didn't make a sound as my nerves tingled fiercely against the pain. I knew he wouldn't care, knew my discomfort would only annoy him or amuse him. Quite frankly, I could stand to see either emotion in his face right now.

After a few moments I felt him settle into his seat beside me, his elbow brushing mine on the armrest for a moment before he drew it away quickly, as if he couldn't stand contact with me. I had to admit that I was glad of it, his repulsion towards me. It made my own that much easier.

We remained silent and generally unmoving as the perfunctory announcements were made and last minute passengers struggled aboard, looking for empty seats. He was simply a large mass of tension at my side, completely unapproachable, unreasonable and emotionless. We hadn't spoken in almost two days; not since he told me we were leaving. Edward shifted in his seat from time to time as the train pulled out of the station, fidgeting slightly, and then he was still. He had nothing to say to me, and I had nothing to say to him.

I glanced over at him briefly to find that his eyes were closed. I knew he wasn't sleeping, but I still allowed myself a moment to look him over. His body was tense and completely unrelaxed. His shirt was pushed up to his elbows, exposing skinny, defined forearms. He was slouched slightly, stomach bent in on itself, long legs resting against the bottom of the seat in front of him. His posture has always been awful, his body slender and feminine. His angular jaw, too pronounced to fit his face, was clenched tightly.

His clothes were wrinkled from the non-stop travel and I imagined he smelled just as bad as I did. He hadn't shaved in a couple days and I could see the stubble growing thick and wild on his chin and neck. His hair, always messy, looked positively wild in its greasy chunks.

Apparently stopping into hotels between legs of the journey was a luxury we could no longer afford. Only I knew beyond a doubt that we could. He was just very aware that I hated to be dirty.

With a sigh, I glanced out the window at the land flying past. Making our way out of the city, there were no rolling landscapes to hold my attention. Only trees and slow-moving cars on busy streets beside us.

Traveling across the country like this would have been fun, would have been a grand adventure, if I was with anyone but Edward. Somehow he managed to make the entire experience as grueling and unpleasant as possible. I was allowed no luxuries, no time to breathe, no time to sleep, I was held voluntarily mute by my desire to ignore him completely in self-righteous anger.

Now, if I had been with someone like Jake, this entire experience would have been different.

I smiled slightly and leaned my head back, closing my eyes as I called his face to my mind.

Deep, kind eyes that matched my own. Nothing cold, no green ice like Edward's. Warm, sun-browned skin instead of pale alabaster. Muscles large and toned, rather than slender and sinewy. He could wrap me up and hold me, envelope me, make me feel safe and fragile. Every physical part of him screamed of primal masculinity. Everything I desired by pure instinct, he embodied.

And then there was his laugh.

I couldn't remember Edward laughing. Not ever. I'm sure he must have. Sometime in the four years we had been together, he must have smiled wide. Must have thrown back his head or clutched at his sides. Maybe it was soon after we were married. I could imagine that he smiled a lot during our honeymoon, I just couldn't remember it actually happening. Couldn't call that image to mind.

Jacob had always laughed. He was always smiling. The bright white of his teeth, the humor in his eyes had been permanent and unchanging, like his nose or his ears. It was simply a part of him. And whenever I was around him I could always feel that joy, that love for life, seeping into me. I was better when he was around: stronger, happier. He filled every empty space inside me with excitement and passion and charisma.

I could remember the last time I ever saw him. I had been sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. I never smoked cigarettes. I could feel him walking towards me before I looked up and saw him. When his eyes met mine we both broke out into wide grins.

"Hey, Bells!"

I squealed slightly and scrambled to my feet with a characteristic lack of grace. "Jake!"

I flung myself off the remaining two stairs under where I had been seated and when he caught me easily I wrapped my arms around his neck. My lips crashed against his, hard and brief, before I pulled back and looked at him. My heart was already racing.

His smile was blinding as he looked back at me.

"Should we go inside?" he grinned, his voice low and slightly raspy. I felt one of his hands trail down my side down to my thigh and I automatically lifted it to hitch around his hip. Without waiting for an invitation, he scooped me up so that I was entwined around him completely. I felt his chest rumbling with laughter.

I nodded eagerly at his question and bent down to meet his lips again. This time the kiss was softer, gentler. We took our time. For a little while.

Then the lust began to override the affection. His mouth broke from mine to trail down my neck, and I felt my hips unconsciously roll against him. He groaned and then his mouth was at my ear and he was whispering that he loved me.

As he carried me inside, I nipped at his shoulder.

"Oh, Jake…"

I felt my body shift in a strange way, violent and sudden, pressure on my shoulder as if I was being pushed. My other shoulder hit cold, what felt like glass.

Then an angry voice, "Wake the fuck up."

My eyes snapped open.

I looked around quickly, disoriented at first, unsure of what had happened. Then I remember that I was on a train to Colorado, I was sitting beside my husband who hated me, and Jake was gone now. He was no longer real, no longer part of my life. Everything we had meant nothing now.

My cheeks warmed slightly when I realized I had probably moaned Jacob's name aloud. I didn't care if Edward had heard, but the other people on the train…

I turned my gaze to Edward, expecting to see an expression that matched the anger in his voice, the shove of my shoulder. Instead he was looking down at me calmly, no trace of anger in his features. Nothing to betray the violence of actions or words. It was as if, every time I awoke, he went right back to not giving a shit about me.

"What?" I demanded when he kept staring at me. If he had looked even the slightest bit upset, I would have let it go. He looked so fucking calm.

He simply shrugged and turned away.

I watched with smoldering fury as he leaned his head back and, once more, closed his eyes.


	3. The Welcome

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone for reviewing! I haven't actually responded to any yet because I haven't quite mastered this...website. Ha. I will definitely try to start doing that between chapters. Just to reiterate, this is ExB. I'll say that in every Author's Note if it's a comfort to you. Just give me a little time, it'll happen. I won't guarantee it'll be pretty, though, so if you're looking for fluff...erm...maybe you shouldn't read this. Also, this story takes place in present day and there are no mail-order-brides involved. Although I was thinking about that and I was like "Yeah, that could actually...be legit". For what I've given you so far. Again, thanks so much for the handful of reviewers. I am totally going to respond to your reviews this time around. I promise!

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**The Welcome**

I stepped out into the cold air with relief. My breath left me in a sigh and swirled around me as wisp and smoke against my face. I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it. Slowly, I pushed myself upright with a deep breath and allowed my legs to stretch, refusing to bring my arms over my head. I could feel them begging to be extended after being so cramped, sleeping on and off for days with no real pattern. My muscles bunched and tightened, an aching need, but I ignored them. I knew it was stupid, but I didn't want him to think I had been the least bit uncomfortable for any leg of the trip.

He knew that I had been, beyond a doubt. That was the whole point. I don't know why I bothered.

I turned in time to see him slide out of the driver's seat, his feet crunching onto the gravel of the driveway. He closed his door and whipped around to face me quickly. We stared at each other for a moment over the gleaming silver roof of the rental car.

Then I heard a strong voice calling his name.

"Edward!"

We both turned to face the house at the same time. A tall, blonde-haired beauty flew down the porch steps and, without glancing at me, flung herself into Edward's waiting embrace. I watched passively as his long, wiry arms twisted around her back, crushing her to him tightly. He buried his face into her hair and I could see his shoulders relax. It was slight, but I noticed.

He lifted his lips to the top of her head and planted an affectionate kiss there.

I looked away.

Standing on the porch, leaning against one of the banisters and watching the reunion with interest equal to my own was a large, dark-haired man. His arms were crossed over his chest, his pose casual, but I could see the worry in his features. Worry for the blonde woman who was still wrapped around my husband. Worry for Rosalie, Edward's sister.

Feeling my gaze on him, the man turned to look at me. I stared back, clutching at my small bag, not really knowing what to do. The man smiled softly and unfolded his arms, walking down the stairs towards me.

Without hesitating, he strode right up to me and scooped me up in a colossal hug. It wasn't tight and desperate like the embrace beside us. It was familiar and tentative. Just a greeting of estranged family bound not by blood, but by law.

"Hey, Emmett," I mumbled, my face pressed lightly against his chest.

He released me and took a step back, his smile a little wider now. "How've you been, Bella?"

I tried a smile. I was surprised at how effortless it was. Emmett had always reminded me of Jacob. The size of him, the happiness in him. He was sobered now, either by long years or by the recent loss of his father-in-law. Still, he was warm.

I shrugged in response to his question, "I've been alright. What about you?"

He glanced over at his wife.

Edward was holding Rosalie's face gently in his hands, bent slightly so that they were eye to eye. Silent tears were tracking down her face, sparks of diamond and ice in the light of the evening. He was whispered something only for her, his face filled with incredible anguish and compassion and love.

He had never looked at me that way.

I felt Emmett's arm come around my shoulder's, squeezing slightly. "We're glad that you came."

I nodded, but said nothing.

Edward and I hadn't come out to Hartsel in almost three years. We hadn't seen his family in just as long. I didn't think Edward ever missed them. He never brought them up, never seemed to want to make the long trek from New York to Colorado. But the way he was looking at Rosalie made wonder why.

"Here," Emmett said, releasing me and walking to the back of the car where he popped open the trunk full of our luggage. "I'll help you get this stuff inside."

He heaved the four bags out easily, and shut the trunk with a click.

I glanced over at Edward again, prepared for him to snap at Emmett for touching his things, demanding to do it himself. But Edward was walking up the porch stairs, his arm around Rosalie, her face tucked under his chin as she clutched his shirt. He was rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder, ignoring me completely.

Comforting and mourning with Rosalie, allowing Emmett's help when he needed it. I had almost forgotten how civil he could be to people that weren't me.

"Come on, kid." Emmett bumped my shoulder with his and started walking towards the house.

I followed him up the stairs to the second floor, not really paying attention to my surroundings. The house was old, messy, desperately in need of a new coat of paint – but it was beautiful. Large and detailed. Everything was dark, hardly any lights were on, but it was a welcome respite from the cold mountain air.

I followed Emmett through a small landing, down a narrow hall to a door at the end of the house. He pushed it open, the lights weren't on but the evening sun cast enough light through the windows to see by. I gasped as I stepped inside, the cold air hitting me very suddenly.

"Yeah, I know. The heat doesn't really reach this far," Emmett chuckled kindly. "I set up a little space heater by the bed for you."

I crossed my arms over my chest against the chill. "Thank you," I mumbled, looking around at the small bedroom. There was a desk right next to the door, a dresser and a closet on the opposite side of the room. A small bed against the wall in the right corner. Beside it, centered in the room where the bed should have been, was a large bookshelf filled with far too many old hard covers.

Stifling the desire to express my dissatisfaction, I smiled at Emmett as he set the bags down in the middle of the room on an old, oriental-looking blue rug. I resolved to mention something to Edward the next time I caught him alone.

"Where is Esme?" I asked curiously, wondering she still lived here.

Emmett threw himself down onto the small bed, which creaked and groaned under his weight. He looked up at me, scrubbing his chin with his hand.

"She's at our house. She and Carlisle moved to Colorado Springs a few years ago, not too far from where Rose and I live," Emmett explained. "Rosalie didn't want her to be alone, so she's with us. At least for now."

"Of course," I nodded, feeling a slight ache in my chest when I thought of Edward's frail, beautiful mother. How was she going to survive losing Carlisle? I had only met her twice, one of those times at our wedding, and I still knew she lived for that man. She loved him in a way I had never experienced, and he loved her back just as completely.

I felt my eyes stinging slightly and I brushed them away quickly, disgusted at myself for crying with self-pity when Carlisle Cullen was dead. I should be crying for him, not for my own failures.

"Hey," I heard Emmett say softly, seeing my tears and not understanding them. His hand reached out from the bed and his fingers brushed against my own. I sniffed and met his gaze, which was locked on me. "How are you, Bella? Really."

I stared into his brown eyes and thought of Jacob. Thought of kindness and safety and contentment. I wanted so badly to curl up in Emmett's arms. To shove him down on the bed and pull him around me and simply lie there, wallowing in the ancient, primal comfort of touch.

I wanted to tell him that I had never loved Edward. Not when I married him and not now. I wanted to tell him that I resented my husband, that I would leave him if I had the courage, if I wasn't so terrified of being alone or worse – back with my mother. I wanted to tell him that I blamed Edward for everything that had happened, even though I knew it was the height of unfairness to do so. I wanted to tell him that I was jealous of Esme, even now, because she was surely in agony over lost love. I wanted to tell him that I was afraid I would never feel agony like that.

But there was a ring of gold on the outside of Emmett's iris. I noticed it as I stood before him, feeling my knees weakening. He wasn't Jacob. Jacob's eyes were so dark they were almost black. Jacob wasn't here.

And I barely knew Emmett.

"I'm fine. Just tired," I smiled weakly. "It was a long trip."

Emmett hesitated for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something. Instead he nodded and pushed himself up off the bed.

"I should let you get some sleep." Then he smiled and chuckled a little, shaking his head, "I still can't work out why the hell you just didn't fly here. A train all the way from New York? I swear, I'll never understand the way that man's mind works."

_That makes two of us._

Although, if I was being honest with myself, I knew exactly why we hadn't flown here. Even if I didn't understand the man, I could understand his actions. The malicious ones, anyway.

Instead I smiled softly and said, "It was my idea."

Emmett laughed again and pulled me into a one-armed hug, squeezing me up against his side. I felt his lips brush the top of my head. He had to bend to reach me.

"It's good to see you again, Bella." He released me. "Get some rest."

I stood in my cold, empty room full of books I would never read and watched as Emmett walked over to the door. I glanced down on the carpet at the bags.

I felt panic rise up inside me.

"Wait! Emmett!" I called after him, grabbing the straps of the large, black duffel. "This is Edward's."

I didn't know why I had grabbed it so quickly, thrust it away so violently. I just knew I couldn't bear to have Edward come to my room later, looking for it.

Emmett looked slightly confused and startled, but he smiled at me kindly and took the bag with a bob of his head, assuring me he would get it to Edward's room. He was probably wondering why I didn't just do it myself.

When Emmett had gone I threw myself down on the bed, over the covers. I didn't bother to change or unpack or even take my shoes off. I simply laid on the old comforter and stared at the cracked, browning ceiling imagining it was once white and pristine.

I glanced over at the door, wishing there was a lock on it.

Sighing, I rolled onto my side, facing the wall. I was exhausted, but I had been sleeping sporadically for three days. My limbs were achy and sore, my body weak and shaky, but my eyes remained open – for hours – until the last of the sunlight disappeared from beyond the windows.


	4. The Night

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**A/N:** If you review, I can reply to you now! If you don't review, I still love you.

* * *

**The Night**

Sometime during the night, I heard Edward.

I had gotten up a few hours after Emmett and Rosalie left, their fading voices cut off by the slam of the front door. I remained unmoving in the darkness of the silent, unfamiliar house until I got too uncomfortable to remain still.

The button of my jeans was digging into my stomach, I could feel the small red mark it was rubbing into the skin just below my navel. When I rolled over, my shirt twisted, the seam stretching across my stomach like a small, constricting rope.

I sat up in frustration and swung my feet onto the floor, moving off the bed to dig blindly through my bags until I felt something that felt like the soft flannel of pajamas and the bulky shapelessness of a large shirt. I shed the clothes I had worn for the past three miserable days and tossed them on the floor, resolving to pick them up in the morning. Or maybe I wouldn't. If Edward ever came in here, I knew it would piss him off.

I stood in my underwear – feeling disgusting – and glanced back at the bed, which was still perfectly made. I couldn't pull the covers down smelling like I did. With a sigh I grabbed my pajamas in both arms, along with a bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, and an extra shirt so I wouldn't have to ask Edward for a towel, and went in search of a shower.

The entire second floor was dark. I assumed Edward was still downstairs because there wasn't a single light on anywhere near me. I stumbled around through a second bedroom which adjoined my room to the narrow hall. On my right I spotted a door that was slightly ajar. I could just make out the white tiled floor, tinted blue in the sliver of moonlight coming through the window. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and felt around for a light switch.

When the lights flickered on, I blinked repeatedly, the light harsh on my eyes. A green marble sink, a toilet in the corner, and a large bathtub with a shower curtain wrapped around it. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, hoping I was silent enough that Edward wouldn't hear. If he was asleep, I didn't want to wake him.

I threw my clothes onto the sink and hurriedly turned on the shower, feeling relief course through me. I stripped out of my underwear – which was rank with dried sweat – and barely managed to rip the curtain out of the way before I leapt under the stream of water.

When the warm spray hit my skin I had to stifle a moan.

Running soap all over my body, felt like I was being reborn. Washing off the gritty pain and fear of coming to this place. I had made it and I was still alive because no matter how angry he was, Edward couldn't break me. I massaged the shampoo into my scalp, reveling in the feel of the suds cutting through the greasy tangles. I tipped my head back and let the white foam run down my back luxuriously, savoring the silky feel of it.

Just as I felt strength returning to my limbs, the shower ran out of hot water.

The freezing stream attacked me so suddenly that it was almost painful. I gave a little shriek of surprise and clumsily tangled with the curtain, trying to get away from the icy flames licking my skin. Crawling over the side of the bathtub, I slipped against the slick marble and fell out with a loud smack as my hip struck the tiles.

I groaned and rolled onto my back, naked and wet, staring up into the small light on the ceiling.

"Of course," I muttered to myself. With a resigned sigh, I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself onto my hands and knees, mumbling curses at old houses with shoddy hot water supplies.

That was when I heard him.

The soft, tinkling sound of an out-of-tune piano drifted up the front stairs, muffled slightly by distance and the bathroom door between us.

I froze and listened carefully, trying to determine if he was angry.

He was always so easy to read when he was playing the piano. That was one of the only times he was. He always played what he felt, completely unconsciously. I had told him that once and long time ago and he had muttered something, his face flushing red with embarrassment, and told me he had to get to work.

He played only sadness now and I knew it was for his father.

He hadn't heard me, I hadn't woken him.

I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, drying myself with one of my ratty t-shirts. Then I pulled the dry one over my head and slid the pajama pants on quickly, hoping they would dispel the cold. Picking up my underwear and leaving the shampoo, I opened the door to sneak back to bed.

The music was louder as it drifted towards me unhindered. I wondered if I would be able to hear it from my room at the very end of the house.

Without even thinking about what I was doing, underwear balled up in my left hand, I slowly made my way down the stairs.

I followed the sound and the one dim light to a room just off the main hall. It was very small, covered wall-to-wall with books. There were two comfortable looking armchairs and one large, dark green leather couch in the corner by a black stone fireplace. The walls were beautiful dark mahogany, the curtains deep red with gold fringe. In the back of the room – pushed against a wall opposite three large windows – was an old, high-back piano. And playing, his body turned away from me, was Edward.

I leaned against the doorjamb and folded my arms over my chest tightly. My fingers brushed against my ribs, which had become more prominent in the past few days. I could feel the water from my hair dripping down my back, chilling me as I listened and watched. The music was somber; his fingers so effortless and so miserable.

"What do you want?" his voice startled me. He didn't miss a note.

I quickly stood up straight, dropping my arms in surprise. He hadn't so much as turned his head, but he always knew I was there.

"I'm hungry," I said simply and truthfully. We hadn't eaten much on the trains. Another luxury we supposedly couldn't afford.

He stopped playing for a moment, his fingers resting on the keys lightly without pressing down. I saw his shoulders tense for a moment. Then he turned around to face me.

His eyes lit on my face, taking in my wet hair and simple appearance. His eyes trailed down my body quickly, as if he was looking for something. I thought I might have imagined it because he was staring straight into my face again and shrugging.

"There's nothing to eat in the house," he said as he turned around and resumed his playing.

I flushed slightly in annoyance. He had dragged me out here, sullen and mourning, and seemed intent on pretending I didn't exist. The least he could do was take fucking care of my basic needs.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to dispel the chill and the frustration, when I had an idea.

With a slight smile I turned and made my way to what I knew to be the kitchen. I flicked on the light and went into the pantry. Opening the ornately carved cabinet I dug around quickly, going through the assorted – very expensive - liquor until I found a bottle of gin. Grabbing it I returned to the kitchen and rummaged around in the cabinets until I found a glass. Edward was still playing.

I walked back to the library and entered without any trepidation, curling up into one of the large armchairs so that I was facing him, glass of gin clutched in my hand. I sipped at it and watched him, waiting for him to acknowledge me as I listened to his beautiful, infuriating music.

He never did.

I winced slightly as I finished off the glass in a final, large gulp and I set it down on the table beside me. His playing faltered slightly and I wondered if he had heard the clink of the glass.

I felt the steady, pulsing burn in my stomach as my eyes fixed on his back. The muscle and bone of his shoulder blades moving beneath his shirt like waves across the surface of the ocean, rolling and jerking, as the flavor of the alcohol lingered in my mouth.

The first time I had met him, the same taste had been on my tongue. I was laughing, drunk, watching my friends kissing their boys and wishing desperately that I was kissing someone, too. I wanted to always be kissing someone.

He had slid onto the stool next to me, shy and awkward, but with an irresistible light in his eyes, fixed only on me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he had asked politely, just the hint of a smile on his face. He was nervous, but he was fairly good at hiding it. That, or he had a hell of a lot of self-respect, even if he didn't have much self-confidence. I hadn't know such a thing was possible until I looked at his shy, hopeful face with the teasing smile hint.

I looked him up and down shamelessly, all manners forgotten, assessing him as one would a piece of meat. He was thin and pale, his hair was an unholy mess that looked as if it had never been brushed. He was wearing a white button-down that was buttoned to the very top with a black skinny tie. I smirked at him, about to turn him down with as much tact as I was capable of at that point in the evening which, honestly, wouldn't have been much.

But then I caught sight of Jessica and Lauren, still attached to their boyfriends by the lips and few less savory parts of their bodies. I felt a small twinge of indignation, which was soon replaced by mischief.

I turned back to the boy in front of me and smiled wide at him. I leaned forward slightly and grabbed at his tie. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't push me away. I loosed his tie and unbuttoned three buttons, exposing a hint of pale, angular collarbones. Then I turned to the bartender and ordered a gin and tonic.

The boy raised his eyes at me slightly. "A gin and tonic?" he asked, curiously.

I laughed and grabbed the glass when the bartender set it down, taking a generous gulp. "They taste like Christmas trees," I explained.

"Of course they do," the boy smiled and appeared to be holding back a laugh. Then he held out his hand, his eyes turning serious and earnest. "I'm Edward."

"Bella," I nodded, taking his hand and shaking it firmly with another wide smile.

"And what do you do, Bella?" Edward took a sip of his beer, his curious eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm a student here," I smirked. "You?"

I could tell he was older than I was, though I couldn't say by how much. Maybe he was a grad student, maybe only a few years my senior.

He took a long gulp of the beer he held in his lap, before meeting my eyes again with a self-deprecating shrug. "I'm a microbiologist."

Not a student, then.

I knew he expected me to be impressed, to swoon at big words I didn't understand. I wasn't and idiot and I understood the word. The word and a whole lot more. He was one of those fake-doctors that spend all their time in labs and, in all likelihood, rarely frequent bars. I took one look at what he was wearing, what he did for a living, and the calm of his face and in less than three seconds I figured I had him pegged. I didn't feel the least bit guilty about it.

I was to be his novelty, then.

"Well, that sounds just absolutely _fascinating_," I mock-slurred, sarcastic and extremely patronizing.

I figured it could go one of two ways. He would either think I was more sober than I was and walk away offended, or he would think I was more drunk than I was and make a lunge for me.

He looked like he was leaning more towards the latter.

But, in the end, he did neither. He didn't make a move and he didn't look at me like I had just teased him about his profession. He did something I hadn't encountered in a while: he fired back.

"I assure you, it is of very little interest to a very lot of people," he ducked his head slightly, smiling that tiny smile that I suddenly found endearing.

Or maybe I was just drunk.

Either way, I was intrigued.

"Well, I'm not a lot of people," I leaned forward again, suggestively. "Why don't you try me?"

Edward didn't miss the double meaning. I hadn't meant him to.

His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open slightly, clearly not expecting such a blatant advance so soon. I cocked my head slightly at his innocent reaction, my curiosity increasing. I saw him lick his lips. They were chapped and thin and I had absolutely no desire to kiss them, but I did anyway. I pressed my mouth to his quickly, parting my lips just enough to breathe hotly onto his skin for a second. It was pleasant and drunk and completely ordinary.

Then I heard Jessica and Lauren talking loudly; obnoxiously wondering where I was. I pulled away and turned around, waving them over.

I looked back at Edward. He was staring at me in shock, completely speechless.

I giggled, proud of myself.

"That's my cue, Edward," I sighed and tipped the rest of my gin and tonic back. I wiped my mouth and saw his eyes trained on the small drop of clear liquid running along the outside of my hand. "Thanks for the drink."

With a wink, I linked arms with Jessica and Lauren and stepped out of the bar into the night air.

The music stopped playing abruptly with a loud crash and I blinked out of my memories, finding that my eyes were still trained unwaveringly on Edward's back. He was hunched over now, his elbows on the keys, his hands fisted in his hair tightly. His breathing was steady; he wasn't crying.

I stood up and grabbed the empty glass off the table next to me.

"I'm going to bed," I said quickly, and strode out of the room without waiting for an answer or an acknowledgment.

My pace quickened as I walked up the stairs. I was almost running as I made my way down the hall.

When I reached the cold room at the end of the house I dropped the glass onto the dresser and picked up my clothes from the floor, putting them away without a sound. Then I pulled the covers down on the bed and slid in.

I lay there, quiet and wide awake, listening to the clink of bottles in the liquor cabinet and the sound of the light switch in the kitchen as he turned it off.


	5. The Funeral

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** I just wrote a fairly long author's note and then ffn deleted it. I kind of want to cry. Instead I'll just paraphrase: *blah blah* Sorry this took so long *blah blah* So many luscious reviews *blah blah* I love everyone *blah blah*. It really actually wasn't that lovey, it was more about an update schedule. I just made it more lovey to cancel out the intense FRUSTRATION that I am feeling. Curses! No really, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I haven't replied/updated in such a long while because I've been without internet. But no more. I plan on updating two or three times a week from here on out, minimum. One of the joys of writing epically short chapters, I suppose.

* * *

**The Funeral**

I hated March. I always had. Not quite winter, just shy of spring; stormy and frustrating. I always found it to be an entirely miserable month.

But the sun was shining for Carlisle Cullen's funeral.

It was freezing cold and bright as we gathered around his grave: Edward and I, Rosalie and Emmett, Esme, and a handful of others that I didn't know. Family or friends, I had no idea. I wasn't paying attention to any of the people there. I wasn't paying close attention to the service, either. Everything the priest was saying simply blurred in my mind, religious platitudes seeming neither important nor relevant. Not to me and not to the mysterious people around me. I had had no idea the Cullen family was religious.

I stood just a little farther from Edward than was necessary, but close enough that no one noticed the distance. My eyes shifted to Esme, to Rosalie, to my husband as the priest's voice hummed background noise.

Esme was standing, her arm linked with a tiny, raven-haired woman who was murmuring softly into her ear without seeming to pause for breath. Edward's mother looked smaller, weaker than I remembered, like a piece of her was being placed in the ground along with Carlisle.

As the priest gave his final blessing, I saw Edward shift out of the corner of my eye. I turned to him slightly and saw that he had crossed his arms tightly over his chest in a quick, defensive movement. His eyes were rimmed with red and I saw his jaw clenching tightly as he held back his tears.

Oddly, I felt frustrated, although I wasn't entirely sure why.

I wasn't frustrated with Edward, I think I was more upset with myself. I had no desire to comfort him. I wanted to so badly, more than I ever had before. I wanted to place my hand on his shoulder or touch his arm or wrap myself around him and pull his face into my neck and run my fingers through his hair. More than that, I wanted to _want_ to do all those things. The things a wife should do for her husband. But all I could do was stand there and look at him with pity.

I had never seen him look so incredibly vulnerable - never seen him look like he was crumbling from the inside - except once.

And that had been all _my_ doing.

When people around us started to disperse, I stayed put. Edward went over to be with his family, to embrace his mother and his sister and Emmett. He didn't even look to see where I was, so I stayed still. I wasn't part of their family; I had no right to mourn for Carlisle and no right to offer comfort for those who were. No more right than a stranger would.

A few times I saw Emmett glance at me, but he seemed to be unable to leave Rosalie's side. Rosalie never acknowledged I was there.

Esme and Edward were talking quietly, he was gripping her forearms in his hands as if he was holding her up. Or maybe she was holding him up. They were both crying.

The dark-haired girl who had been with Esme throughout the service gave me a small, watery smile as she passed me. Her arm was linked with a handsome, slender man with blonde hair and kind eyes. He nodded at me as well. I wondered briefly who they were.

I didn't have time to wonder for long. I felt someone touch my arm very lightly. I whipped my head around to the right, I was sure there was shock written all over my face at being approached.

I found myself face-to-face with Esme Cullen, her eyes red and puffy, a small smile on her face. I really wish she wouldn't smile. Behind her, Edward hovered, his face shifting from concern to annoyance and back again, over and over.

"Bella, darling, it's so good to see you." Esme's voice was soft and weak, strained from the heavy, crushing emotion of the day.

I felt my heart start beating hard at the look on her face. Unsure of what she wanted, unsure of how to give it to her. I looked at her, such a contradiction of strength and weakness, hating the lies I would have to keep up without even speaking, especially today. She deserved more.

But I also knew without a single doubt that I wasn't at all who she thought I was. And she didn't deserve _that_ today, either.

Finally, I managed to whisper, "I'm so sorry."

I was surprised how genuine the words came out for this woman who didn't know me and for the sorrow of losing a man _I_ didn't know. I supposed that was what I was really sorry for. For him and for me.

Esme nodded like she understood, when really she understood nothing. Edward was still looming behind her, his eyes fixed on me now. He almost looked angry through all the tension in his face.

"We're going back to Rose and Emmett's house for dinner, just the family," Esme explained.

"Of course," I nodded once. I supposed that meant I would be alone in the big house until Edward came back from the city. I didn't mind.

"Edward thought you wouldn't feel comfortable coming," she said slowly, hesitating. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath. "But I'd really like for you to be there."

I had to hold back the gasp as my eyes snapped to Edward's. I was sure he would be able to see the pleading on my face, my absolute fear of having to face his family. I wondered if he understood it.

When his face hardened noticeably, I knew that he didn't.

Turning back to Esme, with a swallow, I said reluctantly, "I'll come."

Esme smiled a little wider and I felt her slender arms slide up around my shoulders and she pulled me to her, her small frame crushing tightly against my own. I felt a watery kiss in my hair before she released me.

"Are you ready, mom?" came a gentle feminine voice. Through the soft affection of the words I could hear a grief and an uncompromising strength. I knew immediately who it was.

For the first time since I had arrive, Edward's ethereal sister was looking at me. Her eyes were hard and blue ice. They reminded me so much of her brother's: a different color, but still that same unyielding steel.

Esme gave me one last smile, happiness in her stricken face, and followed Rosalie to a black car that was running nearby. When she opened the door I saw Emmett behind the wheel, that same look of concern on his face. He didn't see me. He was only watching Esme now, as Rosalie helped her into the car.

I felt a hand on my elbow, gripping tightly and pulling my attention back around to Edward. He was standing over me, his fingers digging into my arm through my black pea coat, scowling down at me. I felt like I was six inches tall under his stare.

"Let's go," he growled out, pulling me along behind him without hesitation.

We walked over to his silver rental car and he practically threw me against the passenger side door. My hands came out to steady myself against the glass of the window. My cheeks flushed hot and I glanced back around to see if Esme had noticed. With relief I saw that the black car was already gone, driving away at a speed that was much too fast to be considered safe.

Edward had quickly made his way around to the other side of the car and yanked the door open, sliding in with a surprising amount of grace.

Nervously, I opened my own door and sank down to the leather seat slowly, pulling the door shut again with a quiet, meek 'click'.

I looked at him sitting rigidly in the seat, his hands gripping at his thighs, staring straight ahead without any motion to start the car.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked him, my voice wavering and small.

Edward turned to me then, his eyes sharp and annoyed. "I'm sorry you have to be subjected to this. Just please try to _pretend_ you're a decent person."

I was used to him saying nasty things to me. All the words he spoke to me anymore seemed to be filled with anger and bitterness and loathing of the acutest kind. But I was baffled by his words now, unsure of what to make of them.

"Subjected to…?"

He cut me off with a snarl. "I know you don't know what it means, but Esme loved her husband."

"Edward, what are you…?"

"I know you don't want to come," he said flatly. "I know the idea of spending time with my family is repulsive to you. I tried to tell my mother, but she insisted."

I felt my stomach drop slightly.

He thought I didn't want to see his family, didn't want to meet with them. And that was true. But he thought I was annoyed by them. That I found their loss to be…what? _Inconvenient_.

Stifling every single warning bell going off inside me, suppressing every urge to get out of the car and run as far away as possible from what I was about to do, I reached out and rested my hand gently on his shoulder. The material of his suit was warm under my palm. I could feel the lines and bones under the fabric.

"Edward," I said gently. To my surprise, he tore his eyes from my face to stare forward again, but he remained motionless. "It's not what you're thinking at all. I just don't think you realize...how _hard_ this is for me."

In one quick motion Edward had jerked himself out from under my hand and barked a laugh at me, his eyes flashing up to my face again.

"This is hard for _you_?" he chuckled, his expression malicious again. "I can't believe how _selfish_ you are, telling me about how hard it is for…"

"For God's sake,will you let me_ speak!?_" I was surprised at how forceful the words came out, almost as if someone else had shouted them. But I could feel my chest heaving deep, irritated breaths.

Edward was silent for a long moment, looking at me for all the world like he wanted to slap me. I wouldn't have minded, I think. Instead he turned his eyes forward again, his hands coming up to grip the steering wheel harshly. I watched for a moment how white his knuckles became, as if there was no longer skin coating them and I was staring at clean bone.

"I don't pretend to know how you're feeling, or to tell you that I have ever felt anything that could compare to what your family must be going through," I paused for a moment to look at him. Then I took a deep breath and turned my head so I was looking out my window. "But Edward, in spite of all the grief and the sadness, I see the way your family looks at you. The way your mother looks at you. She just lost her husband and she's...she's _happy_." Then I added as an afterthought, "Because you're here."

_They feel for you what I have never been able._

I felt Edward's gaze return to me slowly. I didn't feel the heat of anger in his stare anymore, but I was too afraid to look. Instead I let my eyes drop to the rearview mirror, studying the branches of a large tree behind us with a fascination that wasn't real.

"Well," his voice wasn't angry anymore, but I could still hear the venom in his words. "Despite the fact that you don't deserve it, my mother is happy _you're_ here, too."

"No," I said sharply, whipping around. He was looking at me intently, his eyes didn't drop away or flick forward when he saw me turn. Instead he met me boldly and if he was confused about my disagreement, he didn't show it.

I was the first to look away, this time I dropped my eyes to my hands that were resting in my lap. I wasn't sure why we couldn't seem to look at each other through an entire conversation, but the fact was that we both seemed to try and avoid it whenever possible.

"Your mother isn't happy I'm here," I murmured. "She's happy that your _wife_ is here. She's happy that the woman you _love_ is here."

I could feel Edward's eyes burning me now.

Without look up, I added in a whisper, "And that's not me, is it?"

Edward didn't answer.

I heard him reach for his keys and start up the car. We pulled out of the cemetery and onto the road. He didn't speak to me again.


	6. The Family

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Oh. Dear. Lord. I was all prepared to go through and reply to the reviews for the last chapter and, I swear last time I checked there were about 32 for the whole story. And now there are...not 32. Oh jeez. I probably shouldn't put this in an author's note. Listen, I will totally keep up with the reviews this time, replying to them as they come in. I'm so sorry for not replying to anything time around I just...am sitting here, unsure of what to do. I don't know where y'all came from but...hello and thanks so much!I really should have waited until I was less flustered to write this.

Again, sorry for the wait on this chapter. I know I said it would come faster and it...didn't. But what happened wasn't internet-fail or writer's block, I just accidentally wrote some out of order chapters. I was writing this and then I started just...whoops!...writing chapter 9. It was interesting. So sorry! Thanks to Fats who PM's me all the time for no reason. No one should enjoy this story as much as you do.

And really, thanks to all the new readers. If there's a beta among you, let me know. I still need one.

* * *

**The Family**

Rosalie McCarty's house was nothing like I expected.

Looking at her tall, lean body, her gold silk hair, the flawlessness of her face, it was natural to assume the place she called home would be the same. Grand and beautiful, a mansion that would be better served being called a palace. I never saw in my mind the actuality of what met my eyes when we arrived.

The house was happily situated away from the main road, up a long twisting driveway. When it finally came into view, my first thought was that it was entirely too small, that there was no way we were at the right place. The wood was dark and lovely, trimmed with green. It reminded me of a cabin shrouded in forest. Or maybe just the forest.

I wondered if Emmett had built it.

Edward and I walked up the stairs to the side door, across a small deck. I stood back as he knocked lightly on the door, glancing all around me and trying to imagine Rosalie living here. I didn't know her well – or at all, really – but a woman like Rosalie living in this place that seemed to be so cut off from the small city? It was an odd thought.

Even Edward, shy and ridiculous and socially awkward as he was, had moved us to New York City as soon as we were married.

The door swung open to reveal Emmett, his answering smile small and welcome. He wasn't as jovial as he had been the other day, a lot of his good-natured demeanor dampened by the afternoon. He pushed the screen door out of the way and motioned us inside.

"Hello, Edward. Bella," he nodded to each of us.

As soon as we stepped inside, Edward seemed to disappear. He walked straight forward quickly and turned right into another room. He didn't look to me to see if I would be alright in this new place where I knew no one, didn't ask if I wanted to come with him, stay close to him as I got my bearings. I didn't factor into any consideration of his anymore. Or maybe I was a factor constantly, which was why he always moved so fast when he was walking away from me.

Emmett glanced at the doorway Edward had strode through. We both heard Esme and Rosalie greet him in surprise and Emmett turned back to me, his eyebrows raised slightly, his smile sad now.

"Can I take your coat, Bella?" Emmett asked politely, lightly resting his hands on my shoulders as he started to pull it off. I shrugged out of it, giving him a grateful smile.

I noticed for the first time that we were standing in the small kitchen, dark stone tiles and beautiful hand-carved cabinets. I hadn't even noticed we didn't come in the front door and I wondered for a moment where it was as I glanced to my right, where I could see into a small family room.

"Your home is beautiful," I said softly, surprised to realize I meant it. Usually I found small houses to be cramped instead of comfortable; cluttered and hopeless. But there was something here, in this house, in the elegance and honesty of it, which made everything real. This was a house where a family lived.

"Thank you," Emmett smiled at me kindly.

He nodded in the direction Edward went and, placing his hand on the small of my back, lead me forward towards what I discovered was the living room.

Esme and Rosalie were sitting side by side on a very worn, comfortable-looking brown leather couch. They were both turned slightly facing Edward, who was perched on a wicker chair next to them, speaking softly. Next to Edward sat the small, dark-haired girl from the funeral, her blond companion leaning against the arm of her chair.

Conversation ceased and everyone looked up when I entered. Rosalie and Edward's expressions of distaste were similar and simultaneous, as if they had just remembered I existed. God, how I wanted to slap Edward's frowning mouth.

But Esme rose to her feet and stretched both her hands out in greeting. Hesitating only slightly, and with a sideways glance at Emmett, I took her hands in mine and let her pull me forward to the couch. She kissed my cheek gently before murmuring "welcome" and pulling me down to sit beside her.

Emmett settled comfortably in a chair on the opposite side of the couch, seeming to be suddenly and perfectly at ease.

Esme introduced the couple sitting next to Edward as Alice and Jasper Whitlock, close friends of the family.

Conversation soon returned to Carlisle, to memories and qualities and love that I knew nothing about. I sat rigidly and watched a family reminisce and mourn and I wondered what the hell I was doing here. I felt like such an intruder on their grief. Just an outsider, listening and judging, unable to say anything myself.

I watched Esme's eyes fill with tears before she would brush them away or stifle them completely. I watched Edward and Rosalie clasp hands from time to time, their eyes sad and grieving. I watched Emmett smile and make everyone else laugh around him as he recalled something funny Carlisle had done last Christmas.

I couldn't laugh or cry or clasp anyone's hand. I could only sit completely still, unmoving and unable to contribute, just waiting for the day to be over.

The entire time I sat there, I felt Alice's eyes on me.

When I first came in the room she had looked almost excited to see me. I was sure she was just excited to meet Edward's wife, like everyone else. But as I sat there, staring blankly ahead, listening to the conversation without comprehending it, I felt sort of subdued curiosity begin to show through on her small features. And she never looked away from me for a second.

Just as I sensed Alice's interest, I could also feel Edward's hostility towards me. It was just as potent as if we were still stuck three feet away from each other in that little silver rental. Even with all the people between us, the tension remained. I could tell by the way he was avoiding looking at me that he was angry. Every time I thought he was about to glance towards me, I saw his jaw lock and his eyes flatten out and he would deliberately turn the opposite direction.

I knew he was insulted by my silence, but I didn't know what else to do. There was nothing _to_ do, I realized with frustration. I knew I wasn't allowed to speak, knew he didn't want to hear me offer condolences to anyone because he thought I had no right to touch this, to touch his father and his family. And because I didn't speak, he thought I didn't care. And maybe I didn't.

Was I supposed to?

I could feel pity for these people. Real sadness, even, for what they were going through. But could I really grieve like they were? I didn't think so. I was pretty sure I didn't know how. Even if I wasn't so afraid of Edward that I felt trapped in my silence, what could I say? Just _I'm sorry_ over and over again, on an endless loop.

Maybe I should have.

There was a lot to apologize for.

"Bella. Would you like a drink?" The question cut through my dulled haze as I heard my name said aloud suddenly and unexpectedly.

I snapped my eyes to Alice's, immediately thinking that her voice was light and shimmering. Her gaze on me was still subdued, but it wasn't dulled. More like she was holding something back.

Everyone else paused and glanced between us. I noticed that most of them were holding drinks, but that I hadn't been offered anything when I had arrived.

Alice got up from her chair and walked over to me, motioning to the door that lead back into the kitchen, her expression imploring.

"Sure," I almost jumped up off the couch in my eagerness to get away.

I thought I heard Edward hiss quietly under his breath, but I didn't turn to look back at him; I was already making my way into the kitchen with Alice.

She lead me over to the counter were there was a rather impressive assortment of liquors lined up like little toy soldiers.

Alice lifted two glasses out of the cabinet and motioned for me to choose something.

I lifted the bottle of gin without speaking and she slid one of the glasses over to me before reaching for the Patron.

"It's really nice to finally meet you, Bella," Alice said at last, not looking at me as she poured herself a fairly generous amount of the clear liquid. "Esme talks about you all the time, how wonderful you are."

I laughed a little. "Esme's only met me twice. She doesn't really _know_ me."

Alice grinned slightly, looking up at me now, "You're saying you're _not_ wonderful?"

I smiled and shrugged.

_She has no idea._

Alice walked over to the fridge and opened it, pulling out a bottle of grapefruit juice and lime. She grabbed a bottle of tonic from on top of the cabinets and brought it over, holding it out it me. I took it from her with a nod of thanks.

"So, how do you know the family?" I asked, pouring the fizzing liquid into the glass that was already a third full of gin.

"We were Carlisle and Esme's neighbors for six years, before they moved to Colorado Springs," Alice explained as she cut me a slice of lime and passed it over. I took it, but didn't put it in my drink. Instead I just held it, rolling it around in my hands as I looked back at Alice who was squeezing more of the lime into some Patron and grapefruit juice concoction.

"You live near the ranch house?" I wondered, not recalling seeing any houses nearby. I thought we were isolated up there.

"Well, it's about a ten minute walk. There's a little path behind the house that'll lead you straight over the hills. That's where we live." Alice shrugged. "Anyway, we became pretty close with Carlisle and Esme when they let us use some of their land for our horses. Carlisle loved animals, loved to ride."

"Six years? So you never knew Edward?" I asked.

"Nope," Alice shrugged again and sipped at her drink, giving a slight shudder. "I mean, obviously Esme and Carlisle talked about him _all the time_. Him and his beautiful wife living very glamorously in New York. But no, today was I think maybe the third time I've met him."

I had to admit, I was surprised to hear it. If she didn't know Edward, I couldn't help wondering why she wanted to know _me_. Who was I out here? As far as these people were concerned, I was nothing more than a prop. Something that Edward had dragged along – something that had allowed itself to be dragged – but that he resented with every bone in his body.

"So, how long are you guys staying out here?" Alice asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. Her eyes were trained on my face as if she was trying to figure me out, her expression curious again.

"I'm not sure," I replied, mixing my drink with a spoon, the clanking of stainless steel against class so comforting. "I can't imagine why we'd stay longer than a few more days."

"You should come visit Jasper and I while you're here," Alice offered. "I'd love to get to know you a little before you go back."

"Sure," I shrugged, not really intending to ever follow through. I wanted as little to do with this place as possible, and I definitely didn't want to make any friends. Not with people like Alice.

Alice looked at me a little longer, sipping her drink lightly. I felt my cheeks heat up as she studied me, feeling almost like she knew what I was thinking; that I wanted to avoid her – everyone – until I went back home to New York.

Then she smiled at me and I was sure I was just imagining things. Of course she believed I was sincere, that I was the lovely, kind, beautiful woman that I was sure Esme made me out to be. She was just a little girl who lived on a farm and I was a disappointment to everyone who ever got to know me.

We made our way back to the living room, a round of loud laughter greeting us. I was so surprised by it, by the life and happiness of it, that I paused in the doorway. Alice walked past me and plopped back down in her chair. She handed Jasper her drink to let him taste it. He took a little sip, grimaced, and handed it back to her, whispering in her ear with a small smile on his face.

I looked around to see the source of the laughter, the smiles on everyone's faces that had them so distracted from their grief.

"…God, that girl was so hot. I couldn't believe it when he told me he'd turned her down," I heard the tail-end of something Emmett was saying.

"I could," Rosalie interjected, her face radiant and stunning when she smiled. "Edward was such a little nerd back then. Always reading and studying and looking at tiny little bugs under his microscope. He was completely socially retarded."

"I know, but she was _Tanya Denali_," Emmett sighed, like that explained everything. Rosalie laughed lightly and shook her head, not the least bit jealous.

I looked to Edward, my brows furrowed curiously. No one has noticed that I was standing in the doorway yet, still caught up in their smiles. Edward's face was flushed, but he was laughing and shaking his head in a movement very similar to his sister's.

"Seriously, Edward, what _were _you thinking?" Emmett demanded, as if he had been personally insulted by Edward's rejection of this Tanya person.

"I don't know," he shrugged, his voice light and effortless with the memory. "I was just a kid. I just wasn't…interested."

He shrugged and Emmett and Rosalie burst out into loud guffaws once again. Alice and Jasper were grinning madly and shaking with laughter. Even Esme chuckled slightly. I wished I had heard the beginning of the conversation.

"Even mom wanted you to take her to that dance," Rosalie added, wiping her eyes. "Didn't you, mom?"

Edward groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Edward's always known exactly what he's wanted, and when he decides on something he can't be moved," Esme smiled affectionately at my husband, proud of his certainty that I would have called stubbornness. Her face was light and more open and lovely than I'd ever seen it, but she spoke with all seriousness. "He's always so sure."

I felt my stomach drop slightly at her words. I was startled by the open adoration in Esme's eyes when she gazed at her son, who had finally come home after years of absence. I don't think I had ever seen anyone look at him that way. I was always looking at his flaws, at everything I thought was wrong with him. But his mother looked at him as if he was completely and absolutely perfect.

"Tanya was a lovely girl," Esme turned to me suddenly, her eyes locking with mine. "But she wasn't the right one."


	7. The Offer

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** I am so psyched how many people are reading this now. I got a bunch of reviews from people I've never seen before and ten million more alerts (about 60). I don't know how you guys heard about this story, but thank you to anyone who's recommended it. I've been ordered to say hello to Maylin. I don't know who she is or if she reads this story but hey. As always, I need a beta. If you find any errors, I'm so sorry...I try to beta myself but there are some things that are just better when another person is involved. Kinda like sex.

* * *

**The Offer**

There was absolutely nothing to do in the house.

For the past three days I had been sitting in complete solitude from sunrise to sundown, with nothing to occupy me and no one to keep me company. If I had thought I was lonely before, back in New York, I had been sorely mistaken.

The day after the funeral Edward had knocked loudly outside my room at quarter past seven in the morning.

Stumbling out of bed, very nearly falling on my face as I got tangled in the sheets, I flung the door open. I squinted up at him, willing the pounding in my head to go away long enough to stand up straight and stare him down. I didn't quite manage it.

"What?" I had snapped, placing my hand against my left temple as I clung to the door frame with the other. It was far too early to be awake after the amount of gin I had consumed last night in the presence of his family.

"I'm going to Colorado Springs today. I'm meeting friends, and I'll head down to the hospital to talk to a couple of my dad's colleagues at some point," Edward explained flatly, not reacting to my haggard appearance. "I probably won't be back until later tonight."

I had mumbled something about that being good to know and had waved him away.

I closed the door, listening to him pad down the hallway in bare feet before I slumped against it, covering my eyes and fumbling around until I hit the mattress again.

I promptly collapsed and didn't resurface until noon.

When I woke up, I decided to take a walk outside, and explore the grounds. It had been so long since I had been anywhere but Manhattan. I remembered having so much fun when I was younger, playing outside. Forks was such an ideal place for it, playing in backyards, climbing in and out of trees, swimming in the ocean, going on hikes.

But when I ventured onto the ranch house's property, the air was cold and my shoes were almost instantly muddied beyond all recognition. I remembered precisely the reason why I had been so desperate to leave my small hometown.

I didn't venture outside again.

The following days were exactly the same, without the early wake up call. Edward stopped telling me where he was going and what he was doing when he went to the city. All I knew was that I was alone from the time I woke up until late at night and that I had fucking nothing to do.

I paced the house for most of the day.

There wasn't a television or a computer, nothing that allowed me any contact with the outside world.

I would go to the little library room with the piano and flip through books from time to time. Nothing held my interest for very long, most were old musty classics and dry medical books.

This place, this house, was everything that I had always wanted to avoid in my life. I felt like I was back in Forks, a trapped child in a place that was too small to hold her. I was so familiar with this restlessness.

Although, there was one major difference. When I had lived in Forks, I had friends.

I had Jacob.

As I grew older, I became less of a tomboy, slowly growing into the awkwardness of my body in high school. I spent more of my time indoors than out, but I was still the same lively girl I had always been. I simply focused my energy into shopping for beautiful things to wear and kissing boys and going to social events.

Forks did not change with me.

I began to resent it, resent the fact that I had to stay there, and I couldn't wait to escape to college. It was a tiny town with nothing to offer me anymore, just full of nature and memories and the same old people. Despite that, I always managed to suffer through my time there because I _knew_ I would move one day. And I had Jacob. It was enough.

I wasn't as broken as I was now.

Marrying Edward and heading to New York with him was supposed to be the start of such a wonderful adventure. I would finally be free of every restriction of Washington and small town life. I would get away from my mother who resented me and from my father who didn't care. I would have the city to distract me from memories of Jacob. And I would have a husband who worshipped me.

The city had been everything I thought it would be and more.

Such life and intensity saturated every part of it. There were parties and dance clubs and the most interesting array of people to meet. I never got close to anyone there, and I never had to. There was always someone new, someone better to meet the next night. During the day I could go to museums and art galleries, go for endless shopping sprees on Fifth Avenue. In the evenings there were plays on Broadway.

Occasionally I could convince Edward to come with me, to take me to a show or an opera or a concert. His willingness to comply was always due more to his desire to make me happy than a shared interest in what I enjoyed. At the time, I really didn't care that we had nothing in common, as long as I got what I wanted.

But that, inevitably, had faded.

The novelty of the city began to wear on me, and the novelty of his lively, energetic wife seemed to wear on Edward. He became distant and I became dissatisfied.

And that was what had set a chain of events into motion that had led me here, to this awful place. This place that was everything I had spent my life trying to run away from.

It had been three days of utter boredom in this house and I was sitting the living room at three in the afternoon, trying to sleep a little but finding it exceedingly difficult. All I had done was sleep and pace and laze around, wallowing in self-pity. I really couldn't sleep anymore.

I could close my eyes and drop in and out of consciousness, remaining in a hazy dream-like state for hours at a time, but I couldn't sleep.

Instead, I remembered.

I ran through the pages of my life like it was the most interesting novel in the world, letting them flicker up before my eyes like a waking dream.

I thought of New York and Forks. I thought of my time in school at the University of Washington. I thought of Sundays, going out with Jessica and Lauren to the small little coffee shop just outside of campus for breakfast, devouring fried eggs that would nurse hangovers. I thought of that one Sunday I had been picking at my toast when I heard someone call my name from across the cafe.

"Bella?"

I looked up to see a young man staring down at me, a wide, surprised smile on his face.

I took in his tucked-in shirt, his messy array of copper hair, the long lines of his body, and his grinning face blankly. My eyes dropped to his black tie. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu looking at that tie. I saw my own hands loosening it with a laugh. Did I know this man?

"Hello…?" The greeting was more a question.

"Edward," he responded easily, holding out his hand. I took it as I struggled to remember who he was. My eyes fell to his pale, thin lips and I remembered them: warm and simple.

It immediately came back to me.

His shy advance; alcohol that tasted of holidays; his nervous laugh; self-disdain mixed oddly with confidence; our ordinary kiss. I had met him at a bar on the UW campus over three weeks ago when I had been out drinking with my friends.

"Of course," I said with a smile. I was unsure of what he could possibly want, what he meant by approaching me again. "How are you, Edward?"

"I'm fine," he brushed my question away, his smile was still so wide.

It was ridiculous, the way he was grinning at me, as if we were old friends, as if he knew me intimately. The way his eyes crinkled and the white, straight line of his teeth…he was much more attractive when he smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it," I replied, pulling my hand away from his. I was acutely aware of Jessica and Lauren, staring back and forth between us curiously.

Edward swallowed slightly when I released his hand.

I fully expected him to excuse himself in some characteristically awkward manner. Instead he shifted from foot to foot in front of our table. I saw him clench his teeth slightly and noticed the strong line of his jaw for the first time.

When he said nothing, Lauren, Jessica and I all exchanged glances.

"Are you done, Bella?" Jessica asked, motioning to my plate. I looked down at my half eaten egg sandwich and back up at Edward quickly.

"Yes," I said quickly, moving to stand. The abrupt motion caused my shoulder to bump up against Edward's chest. I felt him recoil slightly, but he still remained completely quiet as he watched my friends and I gather up our things.

Finally, I turned to him, my coat slung over my arm, and granted him a small smile. "It was nice to see you again, Edward."

I brushed against him again as I moved past him towards the door, Jessica and Lauren following after me with small conspiratorial smiles on their faces.

"Bella." Edward said my name with a practiced deliberateness.

He said it so loud, so firmly that I couldn't ignore him or pretend I hadn't heard him. I turned around, once again, to face him. He was still standing in front of our table, his arms clenched tightly by his sides.

I cocked my head towards him questioningly.

"Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?" he asked, the question such a quick jumble that I barely caught it.

I could hear Jessica and Lauren trying to stifle giggles behind me.

Trying to hold back a laugh of my own at his awkwardness, I smiled at him. "I'm sorry, Edward. I have a boyfriend."

I watched his face flush in embarrassment, but when his eyes met mine they were that odd mix of shy and confident. I thought he looked a little angry.

Then I heard him, his voice so dejected, "If you don't want to go out with me, just say so. You don't have to make up excuses."

I blinked back at him, slightly surprised. His words would have been confident and angry, but his body language was so meek. I knew he was intimidated by me because he wasn't the first. I knew that by all conventional standards I was out of his league. But everything he said to me, every time he looked at me, seemed to be laced with an importance that bordered on desperation.

And I pitied him.

True, I wouldn't have gone out with him regardless of whether or not I was in a relationship. But I supposed that he didn't have to know that. I didn't want to be wholly responsible for crushing him.

So I walked back up to him, closing the distance between us in four little steps. Looking him square in the eye I said, "His name is Jacob Black, he's got black hair and brown eyes, he hates mushrooms and chicken, we've been dating for three years, and I'm in love with him."

I didn't think it was possible for Edward's face to turn more red than it already was.

Leaning up, I placed my hands on either one of his shoulders and, standing on my toes, brushed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I whispered, not meaning it at all.

I heard the back door creak and my eyes snapped open, rousing me from my memories abruptly. I immediately recognized the weight and the pace of the footsteps coming towards me.

I straightened up on the couch, smoothing my hair down and wishing I had a mirror.

It was strange to know that I was the same girl who had thought Edward so inconsequential once.

Now he was all I seemed to be aware of. Just the sound of him approaching filled me with such dread – with such fear – it was hard to imagine ever being nonchalant towards him. I wanted so badly to feel nothing again. The irony of it all didn't escape me.

I glanced out the window behind me, surprised to see that it was still light out, the sun just beginning to set over the distant blue mountains. The past few days he hadn't come home until well after dark.

"Bella?" I heard him call out.

I flinched, startled and instantly panicked that he was looking for me.

I sprung to my feet and began to walk towards the door out to the main hall. I had almost reached it when he turned the corner. I ran directly into him, smashing into his chest with a gasp. I felt his arms curl up reflexively to steady me, but I had already darted back away from him, my eyes wide.

He looked almost amused by my reaction.

"I brought dinner," he said, his voice steady, not giving anything away.

"I'm not hungry," I replied quickly, even though I was.

"Regardless, I need to speak to you."

Without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and made his way towards the back of the house and the large, bright kitchen. I could feel my palms growing sweaty as I followed him, my steps small as I trailed behind.

He stopped at the table, pulling sandwiches out of a brown paper bag and setting them onto two paper napkins silently. He pushed one towards me and kept the other at the head of the table. I watched without speaking as he walked into the pantry and pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring it into a plastic cup. He placed a second cup on the table in front of me but left it empty, placing the bottle down in front of it and raising one eyebrow in expectation.

I walked forward, pulling out the chair beside him and then, second guessing myself, I pushed it back in. I poured myself some of the scotch and grabbed my plate, moving it to the other end of the table so that we were facing each other across the long, wooden expanse. I sat down, my eyes never leaving his, and remained perfectly still. My fingers itched to reach for the sandwich in front of me, but I resisted.

He stared back at me for a moment, unreadable, before lowering himself slowly into his own chair.

"Eat," he commanded, as if he could read the desperation on my face.

Without hesitating any longer, I grabbed at the sandwich and took a large bite, chewing it vigorously and stifling a moan.

We ate in silence for several minutes. He didn't comment on the fact that I had said I wasn't hungry. Eating one meal a day, of whatever he brought home in the evening, was obviously wearing on me. He never apologized for it, never asked if I needed anything for the morning, or what I did for meals throughout the day.

"I've been talking to my father's friends in the city these past couple days," he said at last, placing his own sandwich down on the napkin he had spread in front of him to use as a plate. I wondered idly why we didn't just use his parents' dishes.

"People from the hospital? Doctors?" I wondered aloud.

"Mostly," he nodded. He took a sip of his drink and then leaned forward, as if he needed to be closer to me. "They've offered me a job."

"A job?" I said with a slightly baffled chuckle. "You're not a doctor, Edward."

Edward's eyes flashed a little with annoyance. "I've been to medical school."

I shrugged and took a sip of my own drink. The scotch burned my mouth with a strength I wasn't expecting and I spluttered and coughed reflexively. I saw Edward smirk at me as I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

When I looked back at him, he was leaning back in his chair. "Anyway," he said, his voice easy now, "I'll be working in the lab."

"You _will_ be?" I managed, a sinking feeling beginning to stir within me as I registered what he was sitting there telling me, completely calm. "You sound like you've already decided."

Edward shrugged, the slight trace of a smirk still visible on his lips.

"W-what about New York?" I asked, my voice quiet and meek.

"What about it?"

"We _live_ there," I spluttered, suddenly very nervous at the blankness of his face. "Edward, you have a job there, a house, all our things…our _lives_."

He didn't respond.

He simply sat there, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he was waiting for me to do something. Maybe he was waiting for me to start yelling or crying or to launch myself over the table and attack him.

Instead, I felt myself start to shake.

Not with fear or sadness, but with someone excess of indefinable emotion.

"Edward, we _can't_ move to Colorado Springs," I pleaded, unsure of what I expected his response to be.

"I can do anything I want," he replied coolly, his words mirroring what he had told me that day in his office. He was done doing anything for my benefit; he was taking what he wanted without any consideration for me.

He stood suddenly and picked up the rest of his sandwich. He threw it into the trash before I could stop him; ask him if I could have it for breakfast.

Then he turned back to me, his eyes hard.

"Besides, I'm not moving to Colorado Springs. I'm living here, in Hartsel. In this house."

My eyes swept the kitchen before I could stop myself. The empty, dark, slightly run-down house we were sitting in. The house where the heat didn't work in my room and we weren't allowed to use the dishes and there wasn't a television. He wanted to _live_ here.

I noticed he hadn't said "we".

"And what about me?" I asked quietly, afraid of his answer, afraid to hear him tell me that I would be forced to stay here with him.

He looked at me for a long time without speaking, his ice green eyes holding me. I hadn't stopped shaking and I was sure he could see it, even from across the room.

"You are, of course, free to do what you want," he shrugged at last. "You're not a prisoner."

I felt a gasp escape my lips as I heard the words that I had not expected, but that I had hoped for. He was giving me permission to leave, to go home, to go back to New York and live my life. To divorce him.

My elation was short-lived as I realized what that would mean.

Going back to a home that would no longer be mine, living in a city where I didn't have a job or a means to support myself. And going back without my husband. Going back alone.

Everyone there would see it - see me alone - and they would do nothing. Everyone would watch me, living in that brownstone alone until he sold it or until I was kicked out. And there would be no one who would come to my rescue.

Jacob nuzzling my neck. "You can always come to me, Bella. For anything."

I felt tears begin to track down my cheeks silently, while Edward looked on. I ran my fingers over the small diamond on my left hand, watching the dim light reflect off of it in sparks of yellow and blue.

_You're not a prisoner._

I met Edward's eyes, finding him standing and waiting and always watching me.

"Aren't I?" I whispered.

I thought I saw something weaken in him for a moment at my soft question. He looked surprised, almost startled for just a breath. Then he was shrugging and walking out and I wondered what the hell I had just done.


	8. The Car

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Hey guys. I'm not entirely sure what this update is going to meet, reaction-wise. I had a weird time writing it. So if it's a little rough, let me know. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, the response for last chapter was incredible. I would like to specially thank ineedyoursway for just reading this. Seriously, everyone, if you're not already reading "Fault", please do. It's roughly a hundred times better than this fic. And thanks to Kalimando, who didn't beta this chapter...but for sure will beta the next one. She didn't beta this because I burned...my...hand. I don't know. Don't ask. It's a thing.

Anyways, this chapter...tell it to me straight, guys.

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**The Car**

Riding with Edward was just as awful as I thought it would be.

I had been avoiding it for nearly a week when he had stormed into the kitchen while I was filling a glass of water from the tap, and told me that he would be taking me to the store. He walked out of the room without giving me a chance to make up an excuse or to politely decline. I was so surprised, so hungry, that I probably wouldn't have refused anyway.

The silence had taken over the house completely and I was starting to feel the tension reach its boiling point, begging for some kind of release. We hadn't said two words to each other since the day he told me he was moving here indefinitely and since _I_ had given only the vaguest indication of my intentions to stay with him.

It was so horribly obvious that he didn't want me anymore, that he had expected me to go back to New York the instant he offered. He completely ignored me for the next several days, no longer bringing food to me in the evenings. This forced me to scrounge around in the cupboards and fix myself any canned soups or vegetables I found there. It wasn't much, but it held me over and allowed me to ignore him pointedly in return.

I could only assume that he had started working at the hospital in Colorado Springs on Monday, since he left every morning since that day wearing nice clothes and a white jacket with his name stitched into the pocket. He never mentioned it to me, though. Hell, he had barely looked at me until Thursday morning when he announced that we would be shopping together.

I trudged out to the car as if I was walking to my own execution, the only thing keeping me moving was the deep hunger and desperation I felt in the pit of my stomach. I slid into the silver rental and noticed that it wasn't the _same_ silver rental. Of course, it was still silver, but the interior was dark green leather instead of black. I wondered if he had actually _bought_ a car. I didn't really want to ask him.

Edward flung himself into the driver's seat beside me and started the car, pulling out of the driveway with unnecessary speed. He wasn't looking at me, or speaking to me, but it was still the most attention he had paid to me in six days.

I knew things would have been easier on me, and maybe on him, if I had simply voiced my desire to remain in Colorado. But I wasn't sure I could do that. I didn't want to stay here and he knew it. Saying the words aloud would make them so real, so final. It would mean that I had made a decision; that I had held two options before me and I had chosen one over the other. I wasn't sure I was ready to handle that.

Every night I would think about leaving. I would think about stealing his silver car and driving to Colorado Springs or to Denver and flying away from him. I would lie awake for hours and fantasize about all the places I would go, all the things I would do when I was free of him. And then I would remember who I was, what my life held, and I would roll over and go to sleep.

More than being afraid to leave, more than being afraid to stay, I was afraid of what Edward would say. Part of me was afraid he would refuse me, that he would flat-out send me back to New York with a hard stare and divorce papers. And if he didn't? Well, then he would demand an explanation. Asking me if I wanted to stay with him in the form of an essay question. 'Yes' was an easy answer; the 'why' was much harder.

He must have realized long ago what my silence – what my continued presence – meant. He must have put it all together in that brilliant mind of his: that I refused to leave a man I was afraid of because he was the only life I knew now. And being afraid would always be better than being alone. Still, he never made me say it; never demanded to hear the words; never asked me to beg. Instead, he told me to get in the car so he could take me to the store. So that he could buy me food and I could live with him.

We drove for nearly fifteen minutes, only turned once, and then he was parking the car in a small lot. I looked up curiously and read the sign painted across the storefront: South Park Mercantile. It was a small, independent general store that was one of the only flourishing businesses in Hartsel.

I lived here now.

When I got out of the car I paused, waiting for Edward to fall into step next to me. When he didn't get out of the car, I looked back at him through the tinted green glass of the windshield. He stared back at me, motionless. I walked back over to the car and opened my door, leaning in towards him.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked him, unsure.

Instead of answering me, Edward held out his credit card.

I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut without saying anything. I snatched the card out of his hand, feeling heat rush to my face. I straightened and slammed the car door with frustration, turning on my heel to walk into the store.

It was nearly impossible to find anything recognizable.

Everything was organic and home-grown and oddly quirky. I avoided all the friendly, smiling employees as I dodged down the aisles, snatching at anything and everything I could use to make recognizable meals for myself. I wasn't a very good cook, but I was so hungry I was pretty sure I didn't have to be.

I considered looking for things Edward would like, and quickly decided against it. If he wanted something, he should have come in with me. Instead he left me to fend for myself against these curious, happy people and their quaint, charming little store. He would have to find his own meals.

I paid for everything as quickly as I could and a man named Mike with a nice smile helped me bring the bags out. I had never seen Edward move as fast as he did when he grabbed the groceries out of Mike's hands and shoved them in the back seat and the trunk of the silver car.

With a sharp dismissal and a wave of his hand, Edward brushed Mike away and slid back into his seat, revving the engine slightly. I shot an apologetic glance at Mike, who smiled at me and waved before heading back inside. I opened my own door and barely had it closed again before Edward was peeling out of the lot, headed back towards the house.

I looked at Edward, my eyes wide, for several moments. When he continued to say nothing, I turned to look out the window. He always looked so calm, so completely composed amidst the tension that I was sure would eventually crush me.

I watched grasslands roll by in waves, following the line of the telephone wire with my eyes until Edward accelerated and I started to get a headache.

By the time we arrived back at the house I had decided that I was done.

Edward and I had never had long discussions, never chatted and made small talk, even when we were first married. We were, generally, a quiet couple. But this was unbearable, and I could feel myself breaking.

Edward shut the engine off with a click and waited for me to get out of the car.

"You can take the groceries in and put them wherever you want," he said, his voice quiet and firm. He wasn't going to help me.

_Of course._

I sat completely still, fisting my hands against my thighs, unable to move. My eyes were still fixed out the window and my entire body was rigid.

I don't think he thought anything of my stillness until several minutes had passed and he had opened his own door to get out. I felt him pause beside me as he finally noticed I hadn't so much as made a move to unbuckle my seatbelt.

I felt him slowly, hesitantly, sink back into his seat. He left his door open.

I was fairly certain he wouldn't speak first, but I didn't want to risk him saying my name or asking what I was doing. Because damned if I fucking knew.

I whipped around so suddenly I saw his eyebrows lift. "This isn't going to work," I said abruptly.

Edward hesitated, looking towards the house, then back to me. "What isn't going to work?"

"This!" I cried, my exasperation and fear and tension all rushing out of me. I motioned between myself and him vigorously. "This game where you pretend like I don't exist unless the fucking mood strikes you!"

Edward blinked at me quietly for several moments, not replying.

I breathed in deeply, trying to calm myself, before hissing out, "You have to stop being mad at me eventually."

That got to him.

I saw his eyes flicker to life and his mouth hardened into a thin line, his jaw tensing and strained. "Do I?" he snapped. His voice was poison.

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to shake him by the shoulders and yell in his face. And then I wanted to sit there while he slapped me, yelled at me. Anything but this silent indifference; his aching punishment. Alienating me, forcing me to live without comfort in a strange place, he certainly knew exactly how to play on my weaknesses.

Grabbing one of the grocery bags at my feet, I grabbed the handle and shoved the door open with my shoulder, flinging my seatbelt off and shooting to my feet. Standing outside the car, I whipped around to face him so that, once again, I was staring down at him.

"Listen, Edward. I've decided to stay here, for better or for worse. So you can either get over yourself and start behaving like a reasonable human being or you can kick me the fuck out. But what you're doing right now? Letting me stay and continuing to torture me? I won't fucking take it anymore. Especially from you."

I turned on my heel, not even bothering to close the car door behind me, and sprinted up the porch steps to the front door. I shoved my way into the house and tossed the bag onto the table in the hall without even looking to see what was in it. Without looking to see what Edward's reaction was, I flew up the front stairs towards my room.

I didn't even feel the cold that usually had me shivering, the bedroom always a solid ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house. Instead, the air hit my heated face with a bite that only fueled my anger.

I flung myself onto the bed, buried my face deeply into the pillow, and let loose a muffled scream. I punched at the mattress a few times, releasing excess energy and wishing it was Edward's chest. Then, panting, I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling as I continued to fume.

I wasn't sure how long I had been lying there when I heard a car door close.

Was Edward just now getting out of the car?

My teeth still gritted against the violent release of tension, I rolled over onto my stomach and pushed myself up so I could see out the window, down to the driveway.

Edward was standing at the open passenger side door, looking down into the seat I had been sitting in. He was too far away to read the expression on his face, but his features looked twisted up with some kind of emotion.

I watched, baffled, as he closed my door gently. His fingers lingered on the metal for a moment. He stood quietly for several seconds, seeming to be torn between walking to the house and staying where he was.

Then, with deliberate motion, he swung the back door of the car open and grabbed a handful of grocery bags.

I turned around and scooted my body back down the bed so that I was lying flat on my back, looking at the ceiling once again.

With deep, even breaths I listened to the front door clatter open and closed three times; I noticed the crunch of his shoes on the driveway walking back and fourth from the house; and I heard the rustling and scraping as Edward put everything I needed in the kitchen cabinets.


	9. The Box

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Woah. Back from a hectic couple of days. Sorry I didn't respond to any reviews or have the chance to get this beta'd. I probably won't be around for a couple MORE days, either. So, sorry in advance if the next chapter takes a little longer. I really wanted to get into an every other day type groove but that's yet to happen. I know these are so sporadic and short and you guys are probably getting really frustrated with the lightening pace, and I apologize for that, too. Stick with it if you can hang, review if you want to tell me off, and rec it if you hate your friends.

This chapter is slightly more subtle, so I'm a little nervous as to what your reactions will be. But, as always, I want to hear them.

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**The Box**

The past couple weeks passed very much the same as the first.

The ranch house was completely choked in tense silence, its two occupants avoiding contact as much as possible. Edward didn't speak to me, never told me when he was leaving for work or when he would be getting back. I would always wake up to the sound of the front door slamming and lay in bed as I listened to the car pull out of the drive. I would get up, shower and eat, and then mull over what to do.

The house needed to be cleaned, the land around it certainly needed work, but I never touched either. I hated cleaning, hated physical labor of any kind. I had been spoiled my entire life, hardly lifting a finger to help anyone. It wasn't something I was proud of, but the fact was that I probably wouldn't know the first thing about how to fix up a house even if I had wanted to do it.

There was also that idea that doing anything helpful, anything constructive, would implicate I was doing it _for_ Edward.

The only difference in the past few weeks was that the kitchen stayed fully stalked with food at all times. Twice a week he would drive me into town and wait in the car while I bought what I needed.

I would make myself meals throughout the day, immediately washing anything I used so that nothing ever appeared out of place. After the first few days, I started making another plate of whatever I had made for dinner and putting it in the refrigerator. I tried to be in bed or, at the very least, out of sight when he came home.

Edward never thanked me, or complimented the meals, or acknowledged them at all, but they were always gone the next morning.

It was almost like we had this strange understanding, some tiny little secret whose meaning was unknown even to both of us.

Almost two weeks after Carlisle's funeral - a Tuesday morning - Edward knocked on my door to wake me. I walked down to the kitchen, where he was standing at the table sipping coffee, his white coat barely visible beneath his longer trench coat. I wondered how cold it was outside. Edward told me calmly that he was having all our possessions shipped from New York. I spluttered my coffee and looked at him with wide eyes, but said nothing.

It was really happening. I was really staying. This was my choice.

The next day, trucks started arriving at the house while Edward was at work. They stacked boxes in the main hall, precarious towers of cardboard that held what my life used to be. Whatever we were leaving behind – whatever we were both running away from – sat in the hall and I didn't touch them for the entire day.

When Edward arrived home in the evening he looked at the clutter that made it almost impossible to move around the first floor.

"You need to do something with these," he said, not looking at me.

I walked out of the kitchen, not responding to him.

On Thursday I woke to the familiar sound of the front door slamming closed, then the hum of the engine. I got up, taking my time in the shower until the water ran cold. When I finally made my way downstairs, I felt the nerves in my throat.

After standing in the hall for several minutes without moving, I grabbed a box off the top of one of the stacks and tore it open with frustration and fear.

Inside were books, notebooks, loose papers, all from Edward's office. I stared at them for a long time, unsure of what to do.

Finally I decided that I would spend the day opening boxes and stacking them into separate piles, labeling them with either my name or Edward's.

The task proved to be daunting, especially when another truck full of possessions arrived in the afternoon.

For the most part, all our things were separate. Our brownstone had allowed for us to remain apart at all times, the excessive space seemed to become necessary for us to co-exist. Every once in a while, though, there would be a box where I saw pieces of Edward mixed in with me. I would set my jaw and lift his things out, placing them on his side of the hall without looking too closely at anything.

Edward said nothing about the separate piles when he saw them that night. And when I woke up on Friday morning, every single one of his boxes was gone. I figured he had probably moved them up to his room while I slept.

Feeling slightly annoyed that he had taken care of his things before I had, I began lifting my own boxes up the stairs, struggling and groaning with the heavier ones. When I had moved them all, I glanced around my room with sweat dripping down my forehead, my breathing slightly labored as I decided which things to start putting away first.

For some reason I couldn't explain, I didn't want to unpack them.

Maybe it was the permanence of such an action, but I already knew my staying was permanent. To the very core of me I knew I was too much of a coward to go anywhere else.

More than just my fear of being trapped, I didn't want to get rid of the _boxes_. They stood, stacked in my room, like the silent presence of friends. While they were there, looming shapes, it almost felt like I wasn't alone.

Instead of tearing them down and emptying them one by one, I walked back down the stairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. I saw a few smaller boxes I had put on the table which held dishes and silverware.

With a sigh, I walked over to the table and opened one of the boxes, digging around for a glass. I pulled one out and walked to the sink, glancing at the clock as I passed it. It was almost noon. I filled the glass with water from the tap and took a long sip, surprised at how fast the day was passing.

I looked at the boxes on the table, four of them lined up side by side along the table. I leaned against the counter and set my glass down, considering them. I would have to get them put away before Edward came home. I didn't know where he ate his meals, but he wouldn't be able to use the table if I didn't clear it.

With a sigh, I re-opened the box I had taken the glass out of and removed the others, and walked back and forth to cabinets and cupboards as I put them all away. I placed our dishes on top of Carlisle and Esme's, which had remained unused for as long as Edward and I had been in the house. I moved on to pots and pans, mixing bowls and knives.

When I opened the third box, I cocked my head to the side in confusion.

There was a large plate along the side, which was probably the reason I had thrown it into the kitchen. But now that I had the box open completely, I could see that it was large and decorative - not a plate that was meant to be used.

Beside it was a beautifully carved, dark wood lamp. The shade was translucent stained glass, with intricate colors and designs spiraling around it. I felt my entire body tense as I recognized it as the lamp from Edward's office. His cold, blank face staring at me, his arms crossed over his chest, and that lamp sitting beside him, the colors of light bouncing off his face in those thin, graceful patterns as he told me we were leaving.

I was about to lift the box and bring it back out to the hall where Edward would see it when I noticed that the lamp was resting on folders and papers, and something else small and dark in the corner.

Curiosity pulsed through me as I lifted the lamp out of the box and leaned closer.

I set the lamp on the kitchen table beside me so that I could reach in and pick up the small, leather book. The cover was deep brown, no title on the front or the spine. I ran my fingers over the soft, picking at the corners slightly.

I flipped through the pages rapidly and saw Edward's flawless, graceful writing on every page. I paused on one, wondering if perhaps it was a journal. As I read the entry, my eyes widened in surprise.

They were poems.

Love poems copied down onto paper word by word with meticulous precision. The best work of the great poets, copied in his own hand into this little book. He was a scientist, completely and utterly socially awkward. He hated poetry, I was sure. I didn't look at any of the poems he'd chosen to include in such a curious collection. Instead, I closed the book with a snap and placed it on the table beside the lamp.

My brow furrowed slightly with the ache of a distant memory.

Where had I seen this book before?

After several moments, I reached my hand out and flipped open the front cover.

I, once again, saw Edward's handwriting. It flowed over the words of an elegant stanze, from a poem that wasn't his own.

_"Yet 'twas of my mind, seizing thee, _

_Though it in thee cannot persevere. _

_For I had rather owner be _

_Of thee one hour, than all else ever."_

And beneath it, a short, simple note:

_For you and no other._

I recognized the stanza as Donne; a curious selection about a woman dying of a fever. Interesting subject matter for a dedication. I didn't understand the odd sentiment that followed, but under it was his name and a date I recognized.

_12 October 2004._

My breath caught in my throat.

I remembered Edward's face. I remembered him standing in a doorway, looking at me with surprise. He looked like he was pushing back sadness; some kind of ache that I couldn't understand.

I looked at Jacob, who was smiling at me encouragingly. I grinned back.

Edward still looked so sad. And he was clutching a small, dark brown leather book under his arm.

"What's that?" I asked him, pointing to it as I took a few steps towards him, away from Jacob.

Edward didn't answer. _So sad_.

Why was he sad? I couldn't understand it. Every time I felt like I was beginning to see some of who he was, he would look at me or say something or do something that I couldn't comprehend.

I looked at him, more handsome than I had ever seen him, in his suit, his hair brushed and soft for once. He had been smiling all night, his face lighting up every time his eyes rested on me. He was smiling and he was happy and now he was sad and I didn't know why.

I glanced down at my own white dress, glowing in the candlelight.

His wedding day was supposed to be the happiest of his life.

_Why_ was he so sad?

When I looked back up towards the door, he was gone.

"Bella?" I heard someone call my name, breaking me out of my reflection.

I started violently. My hands flung back in surprise, away from the little leather book like it had delivered an electric shock. I felt my arm knock against the glass shade of the lamp, knocking it to the kitchen floor with a loud crash.

"_Bella?_" I heard Edward's voice, louder and more agitated now as his footsteps got closer. What was he doing home?

I fell to my knees, slightly panicked, and tried to gather up the broken shards of his lamp. I grabbed as many as I could and stood up, flinging them into the trashcan.

I spun around, as I heard footsteps stop just outside the kitchen door.

I froze as I met Edward's eyes, his face confused as he stood in the doorway looking at me. I glanced at the remains of his lamp still lying on the floor in a shattered mess and the book lying in plain sight.

"What are you doing home?" I gasped, hoping that he couldn't see the mess from the opposite side of the table.

"Oh, I had to come get something for…" he began to explain, motioning vaguely upstairs. Then his voice seemed to die in his throat, as if he was being strangled into silence.

I saw his expression shift in an instant from confusion to anger.

"What did you _do_?"

"I'm so sorry," I cried, panicking slightly at the furious expression on his face. "I didn't mean…"

"What were you trying to fucking _do_, Isabella?" he practically screamed at me. I could see his jaw clenching and unclenching, his hands fists at his sides.

I felt tears begin to stream down my face as he started to walk towards me, looking for all the world like he was going to kill me.

I dropped to my knees, trying desperately to pick up the rest of the stained glass.

As he walked past the kitchen table to stand over me, I heard him stop abruptly and let out a short breath. Still crying, I ignored him, praying that he wasn't preparing to kick out at me.

Blood dripped onto the glass and the floor as I gathered the shattered pieces to me. Dropping the glass I was holding, I rocked back slightly, my eyes fixing on the slow trickle of red that was sliding down the underside of my forearm. It stemmed from a pulsing, deep slice in my palm.

I must have cut myself when I was throwing the larger shards away and, too worried about Edward's reaction, hadn't even noticed.

I felt my vision begin to tunnel, my head suddenly feeling weightless as I watched the red streams on my arm separate and merge like a river along the white of my skin. I could smell the rust and salt and copper in the air, the warm lines on my flesh.

I felt two bruising hands grab me by my shoulders, yanking me up.

I staggered, unsteady on my feet, as Edward held me firmly by my shoulders. There was a foot of space between us. He ducked his head down slightly to meet my eyes. He didn't seem angry anymore.

"You broke my lamp?" he asked. His voice seemed quiet. Or maybe I just couldn't really hear him, sound bouncing loud and soft like a poorly tuned radio.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, concentrating on staying upright.

Edward didn't say anything.

I felt him guiding me slowly to a chair. I sat in it gratefully, leaning my head against the cool wood of the kitchen table. My cheek hit one of the corners of the leather book, but I didn't move it away.

Trying to concentrate on staying conscious, I kept my head down as I heard Edward walk out of the kitchen and into the hall. I listened to the calming cadence of his steps as he returned, placing something at my feet.

He began rummaging through whatever it was he had brought. I kept my head down and simply listened, all my other senses seeming to be heightened with my head buried in the crook of my elbow.

I jumped slightly in surprise when I felt Edward lifting my arm.

He pressed something damp to my arm lightly, wiping the blood off my skin. Then I felt him cleaning the cut, wiping around it. He paused slightly when I hissed against the burn, but kept gently dabbing it. I was surprised how soft his hands were.

His fingers gently moved the skin around the wound slightly, saying quietly that there was no glass in it and that I wouldn't need stitches.

There was a slight pressure and he began to wrap a gauze bandage around my hand. His fingers circled and danced along my palm again and again as he wrapped silently. When he was finished I felt him brush his thumb once, twice against the covered skin.

I lifted my head, feeling a little less dizzy, hoping it was safe to look. Edward was crouched down in front of me, his face inches from mine, my hand still resting in his. I could feel his breath on my face, warm and heavy.

"Thank you," I said, my voice a little scratchy.

Edward nodded and stood up, releasing my hand. He glanced down at the broken lamp, at the glass and blood on the floor, with a sigh.

I was about to apologize again when he spoke, "I'll get this cleaned up, then I have to head back to work."

My words died in my throat and I simply nodded.

"You'll be fine," he said.

His voice sounded shakey and he wasn't looking at me.


	10. The Dinner

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Brought to you on January 2nd instead of January 1st by computer fail. Look for an update within the next couple of days. Because that's happening.

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**The Dinner**

I must have been moving slow without being aware, my subconscious making every step lag. I didn't notice it. Every movement, every act seemed as deliberate and efficient as it normally did. The seconds ticked off on the timer at the exact same pace they always did, not crawling or dragging in my head. The sauce for the Alfredo took the same amount of time as it always had, the chicken cooked up and was ready sooner than I had expected. I grabbed two rolls of bread from the bag on the counter and heated them up in the oven. I was making dinner, precisely the same way I did every night.

Something was different, though. It had to be. There was no other explanation for why I would still be setting my own place at the table – heaping strands of steaming pasta onto a single plate – when I heard the front door open and close quietly.

I jolted upright, my eyes widening and my entire body tensing as it did whenever I knew Edward was near me. Panicked as to why he would possibly have come home early, I whipped around to look at the clock on the stove. The green numbers flashed 8:00 at me accusingly. He was home at the exact same time he always was.

A light gasp escaped my lips at the same moment I saw Edward walk through the kitchen door.

He looked very much the same as he had earlier in the day. After he had dismissed me – hand bandaged and sore – I had walked up the stairs and sat down quietly on the top step, listening to him sweep up glass and wipe down the floor quickly. He was still wearing his large overcoat and his white lab jacket. It was only his face that was markedly different.

He looked at me with an expression that mirrored my own. Surprise, shock, and confusion were prominent in his wide green eyes. His lips were parted slightly, eyebrows raised, and his skin just a hint more pale than its usual sallow tone.

We stared at each other for several minutes; a tentative, silent challenge. Who would move first? Who would be the first to acknowledge the other?

I could feel my heart pounding all the way up in my throat. Why the fuck had it taken me so long to make dinner? I was always done making it, had finished eating, dished up his portion, put all the pots and pans away and was back up in my room before he stepped foot inside the door.

Why was today any different?

I felt a heavy throbbing in the palm of my hand. I curled my fingers up to brush along the rough, jagged line. The scab had already formed and I had tossed the bandage away when it started to get in the way while I was cooking. Feeling the scaly unevenness running through the soft skin seemed to spur me into motion.

I was able to jerk my gaze from Edward's, breaking the tense connection abruptly. I walked over to the cabinet and lifted another plate and glass, bringing it back over to the table and setting it down across from me. I grabbed the bowl of pasta and lumped some quickly onto the second plate.

And then I waited.

I stood exactly as I had when Edward had come in earlier during the day, with the kitchen table a barrier between us. I was halfway between our two chairs, clutching the large pasta bowl to my chest as if it could protect me.

And I waited.

I waited for Edward to sit down or to leave, to reject me or to accept a tiny offering of peace. The only offering that I could bring myself to give. I knew it wasn't nearly enough. Still, I had never been so nervous – so greedy for someone to accept me – in my entire life.

Several more moments passed and I watched my husband as he glanced from me, to the plate I had set for him, to the plate I had set for myself, back to me. I was sure he was going to turn around and walk out of the kitchen. I even saw him shift his weight a couple times, as if he would like nothing more than to get as far away from me as possible.

At long last, I watched Edward run a frustrated hand through his hair and step deliberately towards the table. I released a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding as he strode around to his chair and pulled it out, lowering himself down quickly. His expression was completely blank, no trace of that startled surprise left anywhere.

I placed the bowl back on the table and darted around to my seat, stumbling in my desperation to sink into my chair. When I looked back over to Edward, I felt my jaw drop slightly.

He had started eating without any hesitation whatsoever, picking up forkful after forkful at a consistent pace. He wasn't the least bit tentative or cautious, simply trusting the food I had placed before him.

Back in New York, I had rarely cooked. Whenever I made the attempt Edward had always choked it down with a pained expression that would only serve to infuriate me. We became pretty quick connoisseurs of all the best restaurants in the city, out of necessity.

In the last few weeks, knowing I had no other options, I was forced to improve my rusty skills in the kitchen. Again, out of necessity.

Apparently Edward had become aware of this transformation on my part.

My own food remained untouched in front of me while I watched with unabashed fascination as Edward shoveled food into his mouth. All the nights when I would leave him dinner in the refrigerator and it would be gone the next morning, I knew he was eating it. I knew, on a very basic level, that what I made was helping to sustain him. Knowing it and seeing it were two very different experiences. I had never seen anyone eat food that I had made, never felt accomplishment in anything I had created with my own hands. I couldn't stop staring.

Finally, Edward felt my eyes fixed pointedly on him. His hand paused with another forkful halfway to his mouth and his eyes snapped up to meet mine. Slowly his mouth closed and his hand lowered, his eyes filling with question and suspicion.

I felt my face flame red and I dropped my gaze, lifting my own fork quickly and shoving a large bite into my mouth. I ate furiously, my eyes locked onto the table in front of me until I heard Edward lift his own fork again and resume eating. When he did so, I felt another – slightly smaller – flash of satisfaction. I could _cook_.

It was a strange, foreign sensation to not feel useless.

I smiled down at my plate, quickly planning out a chicken Parmesan for dinner the next night and thinking that I could take my time so that Edward and I would eat together again. I wasn't sure exactly what was appealing about the idea of continuing these tense, silent dinners except that – in my head – they wouldn't be silent forever.

"Bella?"

My fork clattered down to my plate loudly and I jumped in response, not even realizing it had slipped through my fingers. Without bothering to pick it up, I forced myself to look up at Edward as my body tensed up once more.

He was looking at me, his face completely unreadable. His plate was clear and he had his hands below the table. I imagined them to be folded neatly in his lap.

"Y-yes?" I responded weakly, hating myself for the stutter.

"I'm going to be having dinner in the city tomorrow with my mother and Rosalie," he said calmly, and then paused.

I felt my stomach surge up into my throat at the idea of leaving the house for the first time in weeks. There was also the idea that even though I was afraid of them, awkward around them, Edward _still_ wanted me to spend time with his family.

While I was trying to think of the best way to accept without sounding inappropriately eager, Edward continued, "You'll be alright here alone for the night?"

I sucked in a deep breath as the flush of excitement drained from my face.

"What?" I exhaled.

"Well, I'm not sure how long we'll be at dinner and I might end up spending the night over at their house." Edward shrugged. "I don't particularly feel like being on the road if it gets too late."

His words were so calm, so sensible.

He was looking at me without the slightest bit of sympathy or malice. There was just plain indifference in every syllable he enunciated. He hadn't even entertained the idea that I would want to spend time with his family; that I would want to get out of this house. How many times had I told him that I would rather do anything than be with him? Too many times to count. Too many times to take back.

I felt my eyes burn with frustration and I stood up from my seat quickly to keep the tears from spilling. I grabbed the bowl from the middle of the table and brought it over to the counter to wrap up the leftovers. After placing them in the fridge I walked back to table and grabbed my half full plate and Edward's empty one, scraped them over the trash, and then tossed them into the sink.

I didn't look over my shoulder once to see what Edward made of my abruptness, couldn't bear to think that his expression might still be just as empty. I threw the tap on so that the water was scalding on my skin and scrubbed the creamy white of the Alfredo off of each plate before moving onto the dirty pots.

I heard the scrape of Edward's chair as he stood, but I didn't hear him make any motion to leave or to come towards me. After a minute I heard him say my name again. "Bella?"

He was looking for his answer.

I wanted to say that it wouldn't be different from any other day. That I was used to being alone, that it was easier during the night to pretend I wasn't. That he could do whatever he wanted. That he didn't need my permission. That he shouldn't even bother telling me his plans anymore, since I never factored into them.

I turned around quickly, nodding my head in acknowledgement. "It's fine."

Placing the last of the newly cleaned pots onto the drying rack with the plates, I wiped my hands on the dishtowel hanging on the oven and made to walk back upstairs to my room. As I passed him, I felt Edward's hand reach out and curl around my bicep. A jolt of surprise shot through me at the contact, and I twirled around to face him instinctively.

His face was still composed, but there was something in his eyes. Not sympathy or understanding or affection, he simply looked…interested.

"How's your hand?" he asked, his gaze travelling down to my hand at the same time I clenched it, letting my fingers run over the jagged skin again.

Before I could make a move to stop him, he had released my arm and was holding my hand in his, lifting it up so that he could examine it closer. I saw his eyebrows quirk slightly in confusion.

"You took the bandage off?"

Even though the answer was obvious, I felt the need to reply in a clipped tone, "Yes."

Edward nodded thoughtfully, running his index finger lightly along the line of the wound. It tickled when it came in contact with my unmarred skin, no heavier than a breath.

"It seems alright," he murmured quietly. "Just be careful not to tear it on something. Without anything to protect it, it wouldn't be hard to reopen."

Twisting my hand lightly out of his grasp, I repeated "It's fine."

And it was. The blood had clotted, the scab had formed. The bandage had only been in the way. I liked the way the dark red of the new scar looked against the pale of my skin.


	11. The Visit

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone still reading, reviewing and supporting this story. There's a thread for it over on Twilighted that I've recently discovered and am now checking in on regularly. If you have any questions, comments, or just want good discussion, please go visit. I find it pretty difficult to reply to all the reviews and the forum is a great way for me to answer pressing questions or concerns.

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**The Visit**

As soon as I reached the top of the small hill I could see the house. I hesitated, my footsteps slowing to an unsteady halt when my eyes fell on the land in front of me, a wide patchwork of fences on the flat of the plain and beyond that a perky wooden house that was considerably smaller than ours. I craned my neck back around to glance at the large, emptiness of my new home.

I pulled my jacket tighter to my body, wrapping my arms around my chest against the chill of the wind. With a sigh, I turned back to the little house that I was terrified to keep walking towards. There was nothing for me in that house, no answers I could find with those people. But there was even less behind me.

So I started walking again.

My eyes traveled over the easy forms of woolly, slow-moving horses that were spread out, grazing contentedly in the enclosed pastures. The grass was sparse, with only patches of green peppered in the brown, but they didn't seem to mind the hunt as they rooted around, brushing strands with velvet noses. Walking past them and hearing their happy munching I felt a small smile creep across my face.

Sooner than I expected, I found myself staring up at the porch of the Whitlock home. It was built from beautiful dark logs, stacked and lashed together artfully like something straight out of a frontier movie, more of a cabin than a house. I swallowed nervously as I ascended the steps, my eyes traveling to the Wrangler in the drive, wondering whose it was and hoping that it was Alice's.

It was a Saturday, which I thought would be the safest time to journey over. Edward hadn't come home during the night and when I woke up to an empty house - knowing beyond a doubt that I was alone - I was filled with an odd feeling of determination, which I was sure was born of jealousy. If Edward could go out, if he could leave me alone without a care in the world, why couldn't I do the same?

Knowing only Alice and the Cullen family severely limited my options. I thought about calling Emmett before remembering I didn't have his phone number. I had no one's phone number. I fretted for several minutes as to whether I should make the journey over the small hills to the Whitlock house without calling first, and finally Alice's standing invitation and my own desperation made the decision for me.

Still, I didn't know Alice or Jasper's work schedule before I set out, and now that I was standing in front of their door I couldn't help but think that I was being incredibly rude and imposing.

Before I could turn around and walk back home, before I could lift my hand to knock, before I could even decide which I would rather do, the door swung open quickly and I heard a very surprised voice say, "Bella?"

Alice was standing in front of me suddenly, her surprise evident in every line of her delicate face. She was holding the door wide open, dressed only in an oversized sweatshirt and black leggings, her hair in incredibly disarray. Her cheeks were flushed, and her voice fairly breathless, which indicated that she had probably been outside moments before. She smelled like hay and grain.

"Hi, Alice," I said quietly, ducking my head as I was hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment. Why the hell had I come?

"I didn't think I'd see you over here," Alice smirked at me, quirking one eyebrow.

My face flushed as I tried to think of an appropriate response, something that wouldn't immediately give away what I had I thought of her and her invitation when I first met her.

She seemed to sense I had no idea what to say, so she interjected, "Come in, won't you?" She moved to one side – still holding the door wide – so that I could step in past her. I nodded gratefully and stepped into the warmth of the little cabin, my arms immediately relaxing and falling from their tight grip around my torso.

I heard Alice close the door behind me and then she was in front of me, walking and motioning me in cordially. "I heard you and Edward were staying, so I figured you guys would be pretty busy getting everything situated over there," she commented as she walked, her hands moving slightly in emphasis. Then she looked back at me and added, "I'm really glad you found the time to come visit."

I wasn't sure how to respond, once again.

The first floor of the house was, essentially, one large room. I followed Alice in silence as she lead me through the little kitchen area towards the back where there were a few large chairs arranged merrily around the fireplace. She motioned for me to sit down with a smile and I sunk into one of the larger armchairs quickly and gracelessly.

I glanced around me and saw a small, spiraling staircase that stretched up to the open second floor of what appeared to be a small bedroom which lead onto the little outdoor balcony I had seen above the porch.

"So what brings you over to our neck of the woods?" Alice asked, interrupting my quiet perusal. I looked back at her, to find her sitting opposite me, her face open and friendly in its inquiry.

I was struck momentarily mute, perhaps shocked by the sudden demand for my verbal participation. I must have looked ridiculous as I sat there, mouth open, furiously trying to figure out something to say to Alice that wouldn't arouse suspicion.

"Well, Edward went into the city yesterday to visit with his family." I shrugged at last, answering honestly. "He told me he might not make it home last night. So, I guess when I woke up this morning I was just feeling..." I trailed off, unsure.

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean." Alice tossed her hands up and leaning back with an exasperated sigh. "Jasper owns this construction company that's based out of the Springs. But he's always going off to Denver or Golden or whatever the hell job sites all around the state. It gets pretty boring here when you're alone."

I nodded, pretending I understood and finding that, surprisingly, I _did_ understand.

"That's why I was so excited when I heard you were staying," Alice continued. "I love Esme to death and there will never be a better man than Carlisle Cullen, God rest him, but the idea of having people our age living in that house is so lovely."

Alice sighed again, this time happily. I smiled carefully in response. I was a little surprised when she grinned back.

"Hey, do you want some wine?" she asked, standing up suddenly. "I was having a glass when you came over…"

She walked over to the front of the cabin where there was a glass of wine resting on the counter next to a nearly full bottle. Without waiting for a response she poured another glass and walked back over without spilling a drop. I took the glass when she offered it and immediately took a sip, thinking she was incredibly graceful.

"So," Alice said, settling back into the chair across from mine. "What made you guys decide to stay?"

It was such a simple question, one that anyone in my situation would know the answer to. It would have been talked about, discussed at length, options considered, advantages and disadvantages weighed carefully. I barely knew why _I_ had decided to stay and I couldn't begin to fathom why Edward had. And of course our reasons were separate and our own. They always had been.

"I…I'm not sure," I replied slowly, finding myself unable to lie and make something up.

Alice's eyes widened and a wide grin crept across her face. "So it was spur of the moment? That's so romantic, Bella," she informed me. "Had you been thinking about moving out of Manhattan for a while?"

"Not really." I answered without thinking.

"Just weren't happy there?" she nodded, her question was almost a statement.

I paused once more and considered her. I was so intently focused on how unhappy I was here – how I could convince Edward to move us back to New York, all the things I was missing out on here in the middle of nowhere – that I hadn't really thought about our life in the city for some time.

"No," I said, with a bob of my head. "I suppose we weren't."

"I think that's so brave, just picking up and moving your entire life across the country," Alice commented.

In a flash of clarity I suddenly understood how Alice saw me.

She saw the beautiful, impulsive wife of Carlisle's firstborn, who was so courageous and passionate that she would do anything for Edward. She saw a woman whose location meant nothing beside the happiness of her husband and who was willing to sacrifice her own comfort in his desperate time of need. She saw a woman supporting him through the death of his father, following him to an unfamiliar land, not saying one word against him or in complaint.

How she saw me was a lie. But I desperately wanted it not to be.

"I'm not what you think," I said quietly, defeat in every word.

Alice waved her hand, brushing my words aside. "Well, of course you must be scared. Or, I mean, I would be pretty nervous being in such a new place not knowing anyone."

"Yes," I admitted.

Alice nodded in understanding and forged on with continued interest. "So tell me about New York. You didn't like it there?"

"I loved it," I responded shortly, the honesty emerging, once more, without my permission.

Instead of looking shocked or taken aback by the flat contradiction of my words, I was surprised when Alice tossed her head back gleefully and started laughing.

"Of course you did!" she said with enthusiasm. "It's absolutely the most fabulous city in the world. If it weren't for Jasper, I can tell you right now that I'd be living there myself."

Her response was nothing at all like I expected. _She_ was nothing at all like I expected. She was lively and polite, not conniving or gossip-starved. She was alive and light without being too bubbly. She was intelligent without pretension and perceptive without judgment. More than that, she was completely and utterly content with her life. She was, for lack of a better term, a _happy _person. I saw in her exactly who I would have been if I had married a man I loved.

"You should move there someday," I told Alice, thinking of how she would thrive in such an environment, believing she could adapt and be happy anywhere as long as she had Jasper.

"To live? I don't think so," she chuckled good-naturedly. "When we first settled here I admit I was pretty restless. I thought it was just going to be temporary, you know? No one actually _lives_ in Hartsel." She grinned, "But then I got my babies..."

"You have children?" I asked, surprised. I glanced quickly around the small space, wondering how more than two people could possibly fit into the cabin comfortably.

"Oh!" Alice laughed again. "Oh dear me, no!" She twisted her body to the side and pointed to the front of the house, directly to the window that overlooked the plain between our houses. "_Those_ are my babies."

I squinted as I looked and was met with the sight of the woolly horses I had passed on the way over. I remembered suddenly her saying something about owning horses when I had met her at the McCarty house.

"They're yours?" I inquired stupidly.

Alice smiled proudly. "All except one. Jasper bought his own two years ago." She then grabbed the hand that wasn't holding my wine glass and pulled me up from my seat so that I could see them better. "The one with the big spots, see him?"

"How many are there?" I wondered aloud, glancing around quickly and trying to count.

"Six right now. I use a couple of them to give the occasional riding lesson. That one was Carlisle's." She pointed to a black one that was much larger than Jasper's. "I mean, not technically, but he was Carlisle's favorite. He used to ride all the time…" Alice's voice trailed off and I glanced over to see her face falling slightly with sadness.

"I've never learned," I said quickly, hoping to distract her from thoughts of her late friend.

Alice quickly composed herself and then her eyes lit up as she realized what I had just said. She turned to me quickly to meet my eyes and grabbed my hand again, steering me once more to our chairs by the fire. "Oh, you'll have to!" she exclaimed with barely contained excitement.

"I don't know about that," I said hesitantly, somewhat apprehensive.

Alice smiled at my apparent fear and launched into a whirlwind of stories about the horses, all the people she had taught to ride, how fun it could be, especially in the summer. I found myself able to keep up with the conversation, asking appropriate questions and finding that I liked her responses and the way she thought about things. Her perspective on the world was so unique, and I had the feeling that I had barely scraped the surface.

Two glasses of wine later we heard the front door open and we both turned to see Jasper step inside the door and shake snowflakes lightly off of his head. I was shocked to see the behind him the sun had almost set completely behind a cover of clouds, darkness creeping over the landscape quickly.

I saw Alice's entire body tense, but in a completely different way than mine did whenever Edward walked in the door. She seemed to want to get up and greet him personally, but wasn't doing so in order to be polite. The result was a warm crackling in the air, like electric current passing over me as they greeted each other cordially from across the room.

"Hello, Bella," Jasper turned to me after tearing his eyes from his wife. "Glad to see you here."

"Thank you," I said with a slightly embarrassed nod.

Jasper smiled at me kindly and turned back to Alice, his eyes no longer passionate but inquiring. "Would you like me to turn in the horses for the night? I hear it's supposed to start snowing pretty hard soon."

"Thanks, love," Alice smiled, turning back to me.

I looked at her with confusion. "Snow? Tomorrow is the first of April."

"I know. Wonderful April Fool's joke, isn't it?" Alice said, sounding slightly annoyed by the idea of snow so late in the season. She continued with a sigh, "But I heard it's supposed to be pretty bad."

Then she seemed to think of something suddenly as Jasper pulled on tall, muddy boots and made his way back outside. She stood up, grabbing our empty glasses from the floor by each of our chairs.

"You should actually head home pretty soon before it really starts falling," she said with concern. "Won't Edward be wondering where you are?"

"I doubt it," I said quietly, standing up and stretching quickly. I hadn't meant for her to hear me, but when she tilted her head curiously I knew she had. For some reason, I didn't feel nervous about it.

I grabbed my coat off the floor where I had discarded it in a heap halfway through my second glass of wine and let Alice walk me across the room to the front door. When she opened it for me, I turned to her and held out my hand.

"Thanks so much for letting me drop in on you like this," I said sincerely.

Alice granted me a small smile as she looked at my hand. Then I felt her small arms wrapping around me in a tight embrace. "Oh please, any time," she said as I stiffened and staggered back slightly.

When Alice released me she continued, "Actually, why don't you come over sometime at the beginning of this week. Maybe I can get you outside, introduce you to some of the horses."

I hesitated, thinking about her offer. I thought about how large and intimidating the animals were, about how clumsy and awkward I would be around them, how cold it would be and how dirty I would get. Then I thought about how friendly and graceful and warm Alice was.

"Sure. Actually, that'd be great," I said with a firm nod.

Alice beamed at me and it struck me with a jolt of amazement that I had spent the entire afternoon with someone and hadn't had to lie about myself – who I was – once. Our conversation was rife with misunderstanding and Alice's obvious lack of information, but there was nothing that was said that I would one day have to take back, only things that I would one day have to elaborate on.

I smiled back at Alice widely as I realized that - against all odds - I had made a friend.


	12. The Storm

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Storm**

By the time I left Alice's house and started to walk back, the snow had started falling heavier and thicker. When I passed Jasper a couple minutes later there was snow a few inches deep already covering the ground. He nodded at me as I walked past, leading a horse in each hand. I paused for a moment, watching the large, silent creatures behind him padding in the soft of the new snow. They left deep, dark footprints and breathed twisting streams of smoke into the air.

As soon as the quiet procession disappeared behind the cabin I turned around and continued to pick my way slowly through field and fence in the dark. I pulled the hood of my jacket up against the wet flakes and tried to ignore the dampness seeping slowly into my shoes, sloshing as I walked.

When I reached the top of the hill I stopped again, my eyes coming to rest on the large ranch house before me.

From a distance I could see the decay on such a grand scale. Knowing what it looked like from the inside and seeing the manifestation of negligence on the outside was staggering. Even in the dark, the chipping of the white paint was visible. Slats of wood had begun to sag and fall from the sides like the shedding of snakeskin. The shutters were crooked and rough on filthy windows. I was sure it had been impossible to maintain when Carlisle became ill, the place was far too large for Esme to manage herself while taking care of her husband.

It was a powerful, visceral sight; one that made my stomach twist uncomfortably. A family had been created, raised in that house. It was the home of Edward's childhood, all his happy memories of a time when he didn't know me.

Looking at it now, I felt my eyes burn and prick. It was ragged and run down and tired and I hated that I was living in it; hated that whenever Edward walked in, it was me waiting for him instead of people who loved him. I was destroying the house more fully and completely than any natural elements were capable of. Letting it fester and rot would allow it to crumble eventually, but I would kill everything it stood for long before that happened.

I took a shaky breath and tried to force myself to walk the rest of the distance to the front porch. I could see a single light on downstairs, the brightness cutting into the dark and white of the evening, indicating the Edward had returned home. I bit my lip as I imagined facing him now. He was home before me, but would he even notice I wasn't there? Would he be surprised when I walked in the front door, having not noticed I was gone?

I glanced around quickly, trying to gather courage to step forward, and my eyes caught on a large, dark shape in the back of the house. I squinted against the snowflakes in my eyes until I was able to make out what it was. I took a step towards it, then another, until I was standing before a huge, looming tree.

Even though it was the beginning of spring, even though it was snowing so late in the season so that its bare branches wouldn't be suspicious, I knew that the tree was dead. The bark of its trunk was far too dark, almost black. It was warped and smooth in some places and there was a large, gaping whole in the middle, as if it had been sliced in half.

Not understanding the compulsion to do so, I took one more step towards it, holding my hand out to the wood hesitantly, reverently. As soon as my foot landed, it caught and staggered over a large stone covered with fresh snow on the ground and I pitched forward unsteadily. I threw both my hands in front of me to break my fall and they connected with the unnaturally smooth wood.

At the exact same moment I fell, I heard the front door of the house slam open. It was followed by hurried steps down the porch stairs and the padding of boots across the ice-covered drive. I pushed myself up quickly and brushed the snow off my knees, my pants now as cold and wet as the rest of me.

Wondering where on earth Edward would be driving to at the beginning of a snow storm, I walked back around the side of the house to the front. As I turned the corner, headlights flashed on as I heard the roar of the engine starting. Shocked and momentarily blinded, I threw my arm across my face to shield myself from the glare. I took a staggering step back in surprise, but almost immediately the engine went dead and I was plunged back into darkness.

I heard the car door open and slam and Edward's quick steps, quiet on the snow. I dropped my arm back to my side and blinked back into the darkness. My eyes readjusted just in time to see Edward's face right in front of mine before I felt my arms being seized in his grip, his hands so tight around me I thought for sure they could shatter bone.

"_Where have you been?_" he demanded, his voice a ragged hiss. I could feel the steel of his fingers clenching and unclenching around my biceps, as if he was deciding whether or not to snap my arms in half.

I opened and closed my mouth several times in shock. Of all the reactions I had been anticipating, this had been the last I expected. I was so sure I would come home to an indifferent husband who wouldn't care where I had been or what I had been doing. I was expecting him to look up from a book he was reading at the table, or for him to stop playing the piano and walk into the hall curiously when he heard the door. His anger wasn't something I was ready for, but once I was able to compose myself I was ready to give it right back to him.

"What do _you_ care?" I shot back, jerking my body abruptly, trying to break from his hold. I felt his hands squeeze tighter, then slowly relax until they dropped away from me at last. I rubbed my arms as I glared back at him, hoping they wouldn't bruise.

"You can't just leave whenever the fuck you want. Not without telling me, leaving a note, _something_." I could see the dark of his frame shaking, his hands curling into fists at his side as if to keep them from lashing out and grabbing me again. "This isn't a fucking vacation, Bella."

I barked a laugh. "Really? What _is_ this then?"

There was a long pause and I could see the breath rising up from his mouth in short, quick bursts as he fought desperately to contain himself.

Finally, when I thought he wasn't going to give me an answer, I heard him growl low, "This is our fucking _life_."

Those words. The hopeless, resigned, angry tone of them was like a punch to the gut. It was my turn to be silent as I felt the anguish of what he was saying, so deep and so harsh that I had trouble catching my breath. _This was our life_. All this hate, all this pain. This was what we chose, what we suffered for every moment we were together.

I didn't know if there was enough forgiveness in the world to change it.

"You can't do this," I said at last, my voice shaky and broken, but still filled with spite and anger. "You can't just say you don't care what I do, act like you don't give a shit if I starve to death, pretend I don't exist when you're around me and then flip out when I believe you."

_This is what we do. This is the way we defend ourselves._

"You realize there's a snowstorm going on right now?" he spat, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "And you…what? Decided to go for a walk? How fucking stupid do you have be –"

"Actually," I cut him off, feeling my face flush in rage and indignation. "I was at Alice and Jasper's house. I could have stayed there if it the storm had gotten too bad."

"You were –" this time Edward stopped himself as he looked towards the hills, in the direction of the Whitlock's cabin.

I couldn't see Edward's face with the light from the house at his back, as close as he was. Still, I saw the tension in his shoulders release slightly and could practically feel the anger giving way.

After a couple more moments of silence I finally said quietly, "So, can I go inside now? Or did you want to stand out here until we freeze to death?"

I saw the silhouette of Edward's face turn in my direction, still just a mass of black in front of me, blocking my way. The snow was falling heavily into his hair, the light sparking off the ice and bronze so that it looked like a shimmery halo above his head. Silently, he stepped aside, motioning me towards the house. Without a second glance, I strode past him – my arms folded firmly across my chest – and ascended the stairs quickly, sensing him at my back.

I took my jacket off quickly, and hung it on a rack to dry. I slid out of my shoes, sure that they would never be dry again. I walked through the kitchen and paused, glancing at the stairs where I was headed. I considered running up to the second floor to take a shower and sit alone in my freezing cold room all night, wondering if it wouldn't be better than the alternative. I heard Edward behind me, taking off his own boots in the back room, and something in that sound kept me where I was.

_He had noticed._

That was all I could think. Whether he was worried or just angry that he didn't have absolute control, that maybe I wasn't his prisoner; whether he thought I had run out for good or was panicked that I was dead somewhere in this wasteland. The why didn't much matter. Just that he had.

There was something so simple, so indefinable in that realization that when I heard him padding back into the kitchen in his socks I turned around and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Edward stopped, looking surprised that I was still standing there and that I had addressed him directly. In the light I could see his hair darkened by the chilly wet, his cheeks red and alive from the bite of the cold. He looked like a little boy.

As always, the surprise didn't last for long and was soon replace by the same familiar, despondent expression he wore almost constantly.

Feeling awkward with him looking at me so blankly after the horrible display of passionate fury outside - knowing that only _I_ could render him so crazed and so disconnected within a matter of minutes - I prepared to turn around and walk up the stairs resignedly. I couldn't be around him with him not wanting me. It was unbearable.

"Yes."

It was my turn to look surprised. My eyes snapped up to meet his and I caught him staring at me steadily, face still unreadable, but something like a challenge suddenly in his posture.

"Alright," I said, turning to the refrigerator without asking him what he'd like.

I heard him pull out a chair and sit down as I grabbed a loaf of bread and enough eggs and milk to make French toast. I could feel his eyes on my back and the hairs on my neck stood up against his gaze, discomfort lumped in my throat.

I walked over to the counter next to the stove and began cracking eggs into a large bowl.

"You were really at Alice's?" I heard suddenly.

I turned around, twisting my body to look at him harshly. "Where else would I have been?"

Edward shrugged. "I just didn't think you liked her very much."

I turned back to the toast, dipping the first piece in the egg and milk and placing it on the griddle. I walked over to the other counter to grab a spatula before I answered. When I did, it was short and clipped. "I didn't _know_ Alice. Now I do." Then I copied his shrug. "I like her."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that and settled for a quiet "oh."

We were silent again as I placed the finished toast onto a plate and handed it to Edward. I put two pieces onto another plate for myself and wrapped the rest of them up for breakfast. I walked over to the cabinet next to the table and grabbed a bottle of maple syrup. When I turned around I saw Edward had already dug into his own plate, eating the dry toast vigorously. I smiled slightly and fought back a chuckle before holding out the bottle of syrup. He glanced up at me, as if he was shocked to find I would have had the foresight to _buy_ maple syrup, and took it with an almost embarrassed expression.

I sat down across from him and he slid the bottle back towards me when he was done with it. I quickly drenched my meal in the sticky sweet and dug in happily, glad to be eating something warm.

When I was halfway done, I put my fork down with a clank as I suddenly remembered the question I was going to ask Edward before he had grabbed me.

"So, now that we know where _I_ was...where were _you_ going in the middle of a snowstorm?" I wanted to know.

Edward blinked at me, down at his empty plate, then back at me. His eyes were dead again, completely closed up, inside and out. He wasn't going to answer me.

"I mean, you didn't have to go back to work, did you? We just went shopping so it's not like you were stalking provisions for a snow-in…" I tapered off, watching him closely.

Nothing.

"You were going out to look for me?" I asked quietly, knowing the answer before he nodded.

That nod of that head, those unseeing eyes, they were broken and hardened and cruel and hateful and in agony. All of a sudden that nod and those eyes belonged to the same man I had married. Time and love had changed him, but he wasn't someone to be feared, wasn't someone to be hated. He was Edward.

"Thank you," I whispered, without meaning to.

Edward got up without warning and strode out of the room.


	13. The Driveway

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay, guys. I'm pretty sure every single person I know/have ever met descended on me in the past two days and demanded that I not be anywhere near a computer. I mean, that's about four people, but still. All at once. It was startling and unexpected. And very odd. Also, this chapter kept merging in with the next chapter and I had to pick them apart and assure them that they had their own separate chapter identities.

Please, I'm begging (_begging_) you not to be discouraged at the end of this chapter. I know I'm writing this with a lightening pace and the progress that has been made by these two is just blowing your minds. Leaps and bounds, kids. No really, I know this is slow, but I'm trying to set a certain mood or something. I've never written anything like this, chapters this short, characters this distant, and I'm doing what I can to experiment and make it work. Anyway, before you throw your hands up and walk away from this story forever, I want you to know that this chapter changes the game. Ice becomes fire.

* * *

**The Driveway**

I felt myself waking up slowly, noises and movement around me still a haze that saturated my dreams, merging into my unconscious. I snuggled into the pillow beneath my head, wondering why it was so hard and firm against my cheek. I heard the buzz of coffee grinding as it bled into the sound of turning newspaper pages. It seemed like seconds later that I heard someone slinging on a large jacket and taking heavy steps to the front of the house. When the wood of the door fell back onto its frame, my eyes blinked open.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, how long I had been asleep or awake. I rubbed my eyes and groaned as I struggled to sit up. I looked down to the armrest of the couch where my head had been, revealing why my pillow had felt so hard; it was on the floor. My legs were twisted up in blankets I had dragged from my bed upstairs, unable to face sleeping in the freezing isolation of that room. At least the couch was in a more central location and the living room one of the warmest in the house.

Stifling a yawn, I swung my legs to the cold of the ground. I cringed when my bare feet connected with the wood. I wished I had remembered to put on socks before I had collapsed for the night. I hadn't really been thinking about the fact that there was no carpet in the living room when I went to sleep; my mind had been more preoccupied with the events of the previous evening, running every word and expression over and over, against my will.

I pulled the blanket with me when I stood, wrapping it around my shoulders with a little shiver. I walked out of the living room, through the hall, to the kitchen where I had heard Edward moving around earlier. I wasn't sure how long ago he had been in here making coffee and reading the paper, my perception of time was still jumbled by sleep.

Wandering over to the table, I picked up his empty coffee mug. It was still warm when I placed it into the sink. Just as I was about to turn back around, a flash of white caught my eye from the window above the sink. My head whipped up to look outside, my eyes growing wide.

Everything was covered in a pure, blinding white. There were large drifts from the wind sloping up against that house that would probably reach over my head. Icicles dripped from the roof and I nearly pressed my nose to the glass of the window, craning my neck to see them properly.

"Oh," I breathed in awe.

The trees scattered around our yard were glistening beautiful, the tops of their branches covered with a blanket of snow. The wind and low temperatures had frozen the white onto the bark firmly. The snow was smooth and untouched, a desert of ice and an ocean of rolling cold.

I hadn't seen snow like this since I had left Forks. In New York, snow was never left undisturbed for very long. By the time I awoke in the morning it was already shoveled, plowed, and sandy brown. I hadn't thought I would miss the sight of it like this.

When I dragged my eyes away from the yard at last, I turned and made my way upstairs, wondering if I had any clothes I could put on that would allow me to wander around outside in it – perhaps even play in it – without instantly soaking through.

As I expected, my room was an icebox. The cold hit me as soon as I opened the door and I clung tighter to the blanket wrapped around me. I took a moment and looked at all the unopened boxes in front of me, silent figures that stared back unmoving.

I stepped forward and grabbed a box from the top of one of the stacks, tearing it open without hesitation.

I spent the next half hour digging through the boxes of my life in New York, pulling out random articles of warm clothing that I could layer onto my body against the cold. I tossed designer scarves and gloves onto the floor carelessly as I clawed around for old, puffy jackets and ratty wool hats.

When I finally unearthed enough that I felt I would be adequately protected, I stripped down and changed. My skin pimpled against the shock of the air as I pulled equally chilly material over the warmth of my body. I shivered as I layered sweatshirts over shirts, jackets over sweatshirts, socks over socks over socks.

As I was pulling on the last of my new snow outfit, I heard the scraping of a shovel outside and the heavy shoving of snow on snow. So caught up in excitement and hunting around for something to wear, I hadn't noticed the sound before. Curiously, I walked over to the window that overlooked the driveway.

I saw Edward below me, dressed smartly in a black jacket and pants that appeared to be both waterproof and semi-stylish. I sat on my bed, glancing down at my own mismatched ensemble with a sigh. Then I looked back up at him curiously as he picked and dug at the snow around his silver car. I watched as he straightened up for a moment and leaned against the shovel, which was propped up in the snow. He wiped his brow before staring silently over the expanse of the unshoveled driveway, resting and seemingly lost in thought.

Tearing my eyes away from the contrast of his black form against the bright of the landscape, I made my way across the room and walked back down the stairs. As I passed through the hallway to the front door, I heard the sounds of shoveling resume. The closet near the door had been left ajar and my eyes caught on another shovel hanging up on the wall. I felt my entire body tense and then alight with apprehension and excitement.

I grabbed the shovel without thinking and opened the door into the cold.

The air was biting and harsh, the wind blowing fast and cold against my exposed cheeks. I stepped down the stairs, noting that Edward had already cleared the bottom steps so that the porch was accessible.

He seemed to sense me as I made my way out to where he was working. He stopped, his entire body stiffening as he turned to face me. He didn't say anything and I stood awkwardly in front of the house, holding up a shovel and biting my bottom lip nervously.

"Need some help?" I offered timidly, lifting the shovel slightly and nodding to the rest of the driveway.

Edward stared at me for a long time before shrugging and turning away again, resuming his steady work. I felt a slight pang of annoyance at the fact that he still wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't acknowledge my attempts to interact with him in a genuine way. It was perhaps the first time I had ever tried to earn his attention and respect and I was getting nowhere. What I had taken for granted so many years ago, he now seemed unwilling to give up without a fight.

I stepped forward determinedly and heaved the shovel into the large drifts of snow on the other side of the car. The snow was light, but there was so much of it that it would take hours of work between the two of us to finish the entire driveway down to the road. Unless we shoveled all day, I wasn't sure how Edward would make it in to work tomorrow. The idea of being snowed in with him only made me work faster.

After about twenty minutes I could feel the burn in my shoulders starting to lessen as the endorphins kicked in and I was able to work at a fairly smooth, automatic pace. I slowly cleared a patch of driveway beside his car and began digging into the snow behind it. Edward was shoveling down the driveway that led to the road, but I didn't want to be anywhere near him; didn't want to get in his way.

I worked at slowly clearing a large portion of the driveway behind and to the sides of the car so that he would have room to turn around and maneuver if he went to work and when he came home. Depending on how cold it remained, the snow might not melt anytime soon. And even if it did warm up – as it was meant to in April – it would still take days for this much snow to finally disappear.

As I worked, I could feel the concrete under my boots begin to freeze over to a dangerous icy sheen. I stood up for a moment to catch my breath and I rubbed my right arm, imagining slipping on a patch of the black ice, imagining the sound of a bone cracking.

It wouldn't be the first time.

It seemed like a thousand years ago that Jessica had dropped me off at the ER on her way to class. I remember cradling my hurt arm and waving her away hurriedly so that she wouldn't be late, assuring her that I had dealt with hospital visits with so much regularity she didn't need to worry.

My cell phone was pressed tightly between my shoulder and ear as I tried to convince a very worried Jacob of the same.

"You can't afford to miss any more class, Jake," I scolded him, annoyed with his persistence. "You're going to flunk out if you do."

"_Bella_," he groaned. "I should be there with you."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh _please_. You just want an excuse to not go to school. You _know_ I've been to this ER more times than I can count. I'm an old pro at broken bones."

"I just think you shouldn't be alone, is that such a terrible thing?" He sounded slightly irritated at my nonchalance.

"No," I said with a slight sigh. "It's not terrible. It's incredibly sweet. But it still doesn't change the fact that you're going to fail all your classes."

"Bella…" he pleaded.

"Will you come pick me up when I'm done?" I cut him off, trying to appease him. "Your class will be done by the time I get admitted, I'm sure. You know how long it takes over here."

Jacob was silent for a long moment, then sighed very loudly into the phone. "Just call me when you're done, then."

"I will," I said and snapped the phone shut.

After awkwardly maneuvering it into my pocket, I made my way over to the waiting area. I held my arm the entire time, holding it against my chest gently as I walked, trying not to jostle it. I had broken almost a dozen bones; I knew what it felt like, what to expect, and what to do for it. I could probably put a cast on myself if I was given the materials and an extra set of hands. Still, even as such a common occurrence, the pain wasn't something that I ever got used to. I was always in the same horrible, aching agony. I was just better at hiding it.

"My name is Isabella Swan," I told the triage nurse across the glass. "I broke my arm slipping on some ice in the driveway."

The nurse looked up at me and started typing something into the computer. She asked me questions about insurance, about how much pain I was in on a scale of one to ten, gave me forms to fill out about my history and allergies, and directed me to the waiting area. I could have repeated her questions verbatim and followed her instructions blindfolded.

I sat down in the closest empty chair, glancing around at solemn, bored faces. I hated the ER. It was always such a long wait to get seen by a doctor, which was ironic considering it was called an "emergency room". Sitting there with everyone else, I always felt uncomfortable. It was such a silent, morbid experience sitting in the waiting room of a hospital. After about an hour, I knew most people were half-wishing that they were gushing blood or that their brains were spilling out of their heads, just so they would be given priority. It was something that never occurred anywhere else, something I was sure no one ever verbalized, but I knew that everyone sitting there either envied the trauma patients their gory misfortune or wished they were one of them.

"Isabella Swan!"

My head whipped up, stunned when I heard one of the nurses call my name. I glanced over at the clock as I stood up to follow her, my mouth falling open slightly when I saw that it had only been fifteen minutes since I had walked through the door.

I was admitted, examined by a doctor I had never met before, x-rayed, and put in a cast with very little delay. In all my years visiting hospitals I had never been treated so politely and with so much incredible diligence. I seemed to be done in no time at all, sitting back in the waiting room and leaving Jacob a message that he could come get me as soon as his class ended. I glanced at my watch, unsure how long his class actually lasted and hoping it wasn't a lab.

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes for a moment, resting a little as I marveled inwardly at my incredible luck.

"Bella?" I heard a man's voice beside me.

My eyes snapped open and I jerked my head upright off the back of the seat, startled. I was met with a pair of concerned, bright green eyes in an angular face. When his eyes met mine, his face broke out into a shy smile although his brow remained furrowed.

I searched my mind frantically for his name, recognizing him immediately.

"Edward?" I remembered.

"That's right," his smile grew a little wider. "What are you still doing here?"

"Still?" I asked dumbly, still reeling from the coincidental meeting.

He nodded down at my cast and cocked his head curiously. I looked down at my arm, understanding that he must think it was odd for me to be in a waiting room after being discharged. Especially since people who had arrived before me kept glancing in my direction with annoyance as they continued to wait.

"Oh!" I said, shaking my head. "I was just waiting for my ride."

Edward looked very amused as he watched me try to get my bearings. I allowed my eyes to examine him, wondering what painful stunt had landed him in the ER and I noticed he was wearing a white lab coat over his shirt and tie.

I understood suddenly.

"It was you," I said, my eyes widening as I began to talk excitedly. "You totally got me in! Oh my God! Thank you! How did you know I was here? How did you know it was me?"

Edward chuckled kindly, but I saw some color stain his pale cheekbones with embarrassment. It was the only indication he was at all self-conscious. In this place, more than the bar or the café, he looked totally at ease sitting in the chair next to me.

"I happened to be passing by the ER on my way back from lunch and I saw you checking in." He shrugged. "When I asked the nurse your name I knew it was you for sure. I just told her you were a friend of mine and to take care of you."

"God, you don't know how many times I've been here," I said with exasperation, waving my cast around for emphasis. "When they called my name after fifteen minutes I thought it was a mistake or a…Christmas miracle or something."

Edward laughed again. "It's the middle of May."

"Oh, you know what I mean." I waved his comment away with my giant cast arm.

"I do," he confirmed, nodding and staring at me intently with that same friendly smile.

"So you work here?" I asked him, suddenly curious about this man that kept popping up in unexpected places. "I had no idea."

"I work in the lab upstairs," he told me with a shrug. Then he grinned slyly. "But apparently I still have some pull down here…"

"Bella?" I heard from behind me. "Hey! Bells!"

I turned around to see Jacob striding through the doors, his eyes wandering around until they fixed on me. His face broke into a wide smile when he saw me sitting in front of him, the white of his teeth was so bright against the dark skin of his face.

"Hey, Jake," I greeted him, standing up. I felt Edward stand up at my back politely.

Jacob walked up to me easily and wrapped his arms lightly around my waist. I hooked my good arm up around his neck in an awkward half-hug, the solid cast between us. I felt Jacob's chest rumble a chuckle and he pulled away slightly to look down at the offending arm.

"How bad is it this time?" he asked with another grin.

I shrugged playfully. "The usual." Then I pulled out of his arms completely, although one of his hands still lingered comfortingly on the small of my back. I turned around, back to Edward who was standing politely beside me. "The service was incredible, though. Thanks to my inside contact, here."

I motioned to Edward, smiling at him gratefully. He bobbed his head in acknowledgment or embarrassment at the praise.

"I noticed," Jacob laughed. "I got your message right after I got out of class. I thought for sure you'd just given up on the wait and made your own cast out of the waiting room chairs. Either that or they'd decided to save us all a bit of grief and just lop your arm off altogether."

I giggled and rolled my eyes, giving him a light shove in the chest at his oh-so-common dig at my penchant for breaking bones. Jacob winked at me and pressed an affection kiss on my temple.

Then he turned back to Edward and held out his hand. "In all seriousness, thanks so much for your help…?"

"Edward," he replied, leaning forward and gripping Jacob's hand firmly. "Edward Cullen."

A huge gust of wind brought me back with a shiver and I turned around to see how much progress Edward had made on the main drive. He was nearly halfway down, appearing as though he hadn't taken any sort of break. I watched him quietly, imagining him as that same blushing, polite man who had helped me when I was hurt.

"Edward!" I called over the wind, across the space that divided us.

He stopped shoveling, his shoulders became stone and stillness, but he didn't turn around. I waited for a moment, hoping he would turn around, say something, walk towards me. But he was simply still and waiting.

I took a deep breath and continued, "I'm going to go in for a break and heat up some soup if you want some!"

There was no movement for several seconds. Then he leaned forward and began lifting snow once more, hurling it to the side onto steadily growing piles.

I made my way inside slowly, glancing back twice to see if Edward was following me. He never broke his rhythm as the snow packed to metal and was tossed with short breaths and a twist of body. I placed my shovel next to the door and slipped out of my boots so I would track any snow into the house.

I padded into the kitchen in my multiple layers of socks and grabbed a couple cans of tomato soup from the cabinet. I heated them on the stove, watching the blue flame dance and lick at the underside of the pot hypnotically. When it was hot enough I poured myself a bowl and left the rest of the stove, the heat on low.

I ate slowly at the table, slurping the creamy red out of the spoon like a petulant child who didn't get her way. When I heard the steps on the porch and the slam of the door I nearly dropped my spoon, sitting up straight, my eyes lighting with hope and adrenaline.

Edward stalked into the kitchen slowly and I was surprised to see that his face was anything but indifferent. He looked agitated, like something was bothering him immensely. But beyond that. His expression was that of someone who was truly being tormented, the victim of some horror he couldn't be rid of.

He didn't sit, he simply stood before me taking measured breaths as he looked down. I was stuck in my seat, unable to move, barely able to breathe, his sharp green eyes weighing me down with chains to the floor.

"I need you to stop whatever it is you're doing," he said at last, his voice deathly quiet.

I opened my mouth, but not to speak. I sat, gaping, as I tried to comprehend his words. Why he had brought me to Colorado, why he had forced me to stay married to him, why he bought me food and let me live in this house and spoke to me like I was less than nothing. Why he had brought me to his father's funeral.

Nothing made sense here.

"W-what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice matching his whisper as it trembled.

I saw in an instant his face harden and he walked over to the stove behind me. I whipped around in my chair in time to see him lift the pot still full of soup and hurl it at the wall beside me. I flinched as it struck the plaster with a bang, orange red soup flying everywhere. Some if it splattered me and I could feel the warmth of it seeping into my clothes, into my skin.

I jumped up from my seat in shock. "What the _fuck_?" I yelled.

I spun around to face him and he was looking at the pot on the floor, at the mess he had made. His breathing was still calm and measured. Slowly, he looked up at me and took a step forward so there was only a foot of space between us.

"_That_," he said, pointing to the soup that dripped off the walls in slow streams. He wasn't yelling, but his voice was louder than I had ever heard it. It _felt_ like he was yelling. "I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing but I don't _want_ your fucking help."

"Jesus Christ, Edward!" I shouted, feeling my face heat up as the shock wore off. "I won't fucking make you soup if you don't want soup!"

"Fuck the soup! I don't want any of it!" he shot back. "You make dinner and you go see Alice and you're polite to my family and you want to help me shovel the fucking driveway! You just need to fucking _stop_!"

I took a deep breath, feeling my whole body shake at the sudden rage in his eyes. He looked absolutely insane with anger that I couldn't understand.

"What are you talking about?" I repeated at last, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately. My voice was calm except for the slight waver.

Edward sucked in a breath and released it with frustration. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends slightly as he did. He looked everywhere in the kitchen before his eyes landed back on me determinedly. He took another step forward and we were four inches apart. I could feel his breath on my face.

He leaned in closer and for one sickening moment I thought he was going to kiss me.

Then he hissed low, "I _won't_ forgive you."

I stared right back at him, not dropping his gaze, and replied, "I'm not asking you to."

I saw his lip curl up into a slight sneer. "You're poison."

I didn't respond this time. Instead I waited, as silent as he always was. There was nothing he could say to me that I hadn't said to him, worse and a thousand times over.

Edward went back outside and I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the kitchen. When I finished with the soup, the wall, the dishes, I cleaned all the counters. I emptied the refrigerator and wiped down the inside and outside. I scrubbed down the stove top and reorganized the cabinets. I dusted all of Carlisle and Esme's unused dishes.

By the time Edward finished the driveway I was asleep.


	14. The Mother

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** This was not the original Chapter 14. So those of you who I promised insight into the nature of Edward and Bella's physical relationship (abuse? not abuse?), that's not exactly happening in this chapter. And by 'exactly' I mean...'at all'. Chapter 15, I promise. I just wanted to put this one here because it's kind of nice. And I use the word 'nice' pretty liberally when it comes to this story. A lot of angst and a moderately nasty fight at the end, but at some point in this chapter, maybe once or twice, I'll use a tiny bit of 'nice' diction. I'm pretty sure I use the word 'beautiful' a few times. You're welcome.

I'd just like to thank everyone who's been reccomending this story. I think I should probably specially thank AngstGoddess003 (who I used my big brain to figure out was also this 'AG' person everyone kept talking about) for the huge and sudden surge in feedback. I'm not sure who you are or why you command legions of reviewers, but thank you so much for setting them loose on my story. They've been lovely.

* * *

**The Mother**

Monday passed in that same predictable and seemingly unshakable silence that always followed a fight. I was so used to it that I hardly noticed a difference, but there _was_ a difference. It wasn't silence following silence, as my life had been for months. It wasn't tension and fear and immobility. It was the silence of stomping steps and slammed doors. It was the painful air after a break, anger and life crackling through the space.

Edward had finished clearing the driveway Sunday night and left for work in the morning at the usual time. For once, the click of the front door didn't wake me up - I had already been awake for hours - and I watched the silver car skid out of the driveway onto the road faster than it should on ice.

I sighed in relief now that I knew I wouldn't be stuck with him for an indefinite amount of time, but the feeling didn't last long. Not in this house. All I had to look forward to was quiet and solitude for the rest of the day. I went downstairs and fixed myself some eggs, eating slowly as I stared out the window at the pristine snow in the yard. I had been so excited yesterday when I had first seen it and now I couldn't even_ imagine_ going outside without being reminded of the anger I had seen in Edward's face last night.

I knew he wanted me miserable. I knew he wanted me to suffer and beg for absolution; a forgiveness which he would probably never bestow. I also knew that I would never beg him for anything, never ask anything of him, because he was as much to blame as I was. The impasse always left me inert.

I thought of walking to Alice's, but I figured that the height of the snowdrifts would make such a trek challenging. I was also still fairly tentative about how soon or how often she would want me to visit her. There was probably a limit to the amount of times she would see me before she saw who I really was, what kind of person lived next door. The more she was around me, the more chances she would have to see that Edward and I were nasty and miserable and cruel. I preferred the knowledge that she was over there – that I was not alone – and that she had nothing but casual fondness for me.

I spent the entire day on Monday pulling my clothes out of boxes and hanging them up in the closet, decorating my room with everything I had had in New York. I dusted and swept and scrubbed until the coldest room at the very back of the house was also the cleanest.

Aside from breakfast, I didn't eat anything all day. I didn't make dinner for myself or Edward and I made sure I was upstairs when he came home. The fleeting hope that things could get better between us had evaporated and, once again, I was left feeling that the situation was hopeless. I couldn't imagine facing him again with him looking at me like he had last night.

On Tuesday I gathered all the cleaning supplies I had used for my room and took them downstairs. With my jaw set and fresh determination flaming in my chest, I set to work cleaning the living room, the hall, the library. Unfamiliar with any sort of domestic labor, I continued to get the vacuum caught on the fringed edges of carpets. At one point it began to smell like burning hair and circuits and it took me nearly an hour to figure out that the belt needed to be replaced.

I decided that I preferred brooms.

Around two o'clock, I was dusting shelves in the living room when I heard a car roll up out front, the crunch of its wheels on the ice-packed concrete was loud in the stillness. My heart began to hammer in my chest with fear and excitement as I made my way to the front door. I looked out the window apprehesively and saw a black car I didn't recognize. When I saw a woman step out, I recognized the red-bronze sheen of her hair immediately. She made her way slowly and calmly up the porch steps and in my surprise I swung the door open before she could reach out and knock.

"Mrs. Cullen?" I said dumbly, stunned to see Edward's mother standing before me.

"Please dear, we're family." She smiled gently. "Call me Esme."

She waited in front of my politely as I took in her neat over-coat, the gentle waves of her greying hair that fell attractively down her back. Her skin was as white as Edward's, flawless and flushed in the cold. Her eyes were a soft hazel, so much darker and gentler than her son's. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

Finally, I jerked myself out of my awkward gawking and stood aside, holding the door open. "Come in, come in," I motioned eagerly.

Esme's smile widened a little as she stepped past me. She unraveled an elegant and impossibly clean white scarf from around her neck as I closed the door behind her.

She sighed contentedly and spun around in the hallway, looking at the walls, the stairs, the doors to other rooms. "It's nice to see the house again."

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

Esme stepped ahead of me and made her way into the living room. Again, she spun around as she took everything in. I smiled at her back sadly as I realized she hadn't seen the house in months, and that she might not ever live in it again.

"Oh! I've interrupted your cleaning!" I heard her exclaim, putting her hands on her hips with frustration as she motioned her head towards the vacuum and duster I had propped up against the living room's far wall. "I have to tell you, I'm so embarrassed about the state you found the house in."

She looked both sad and repentant and I fumbled to put her at ease. "Please, no one would blame you." Then I realized how it sounded and I quickly amended, "Anyway, it was just a little bit of dust."

"A little bit of dust in quiet a large house," she chuckled quietly. She placed her hand on my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze. "You're sweet. Thank you, Bella."

She released me and slid her arms out of her jacket. She placed the coat and her scarf neatly on the tree stand by the door. Then she turned back to me, her face full of some type of expectation.

"Were you looking for Edward?" I asked, shuffling my feet together as a wave of awkwardness struck me suddenly. "Because he's still at work. He usually doesn't come home until later in the evening."

Esme smiled. "Oh, I know." She brushed my information aside with a flick of her hand. "I came out here to check on you, make sure you were feeling better."

"Feeling better?" I asked curiously.

She nodded sympathetically. "Edward told us you were feeling under the weather on Friday night."

My brow furrowed as I tried to remember how I was feeling Friday night, and then I recalled with a twinge of annoyance that Edward had gone out to dinner with his family that night. He hadn't invited me, but it appeared that Esme _had_.

I forced myself to smile through my irritation, reminding myself that Edward had no reason to think that I would want to come.

"Oh it was nothing, a little head cold," I replied airily. "I was just too exhausted to face driving all the way into the city. I felt _so_ horrible about missing dinner. It was so kind of you to invite me."

"I completely understand," Esme assured me, resting her hand on the shoulder again and running it up and down my arm soothingly a few times. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright up here, and after that dreadful storm, this was the first opportunity I had to drive up."

"Thank you so much," I said honestly. "That's so thoughtful."

"Of course." Esme blushed. Then she smiled shyly and continued, "I wanted to see you anyway. We haven't really had the opportunity to get to know each other very well."

"I'm sorry," I responded with genuine regret.

"Oh, it's not your fault, darling!" Esme laughed, looking surprised by my apology. She, of course, didn't realize that it was a _choice_ to freeze her out of my life completely. A choice that I had made. "We should have come out to New York more often. Especially knowing how hard it is to drag Edward away from his work."

Once again, I didn't know what to say.

It was so hard to hear her blame herself, blame Carlisle, blame Edward for something that had been _my_ decision. It was so hard to look at her face, to see the little pieces of Edward in her features, and to remember that _he_ used to be this cordial, this self-sacrificing. His compassion and his generosity had obviously come from this woman and in all the years we had been married I had _never _wanted to know her.

I watched as Esme strode over to the vacuum and turned it on. Immediately the room filled with that same smell of burnt hair. She turned it off and looked at me with an amused expression.

"I think it needs a new belt," I explained with a sheepish shrug. "I decided to just…sweep."

Esme threw back her head and laughed lightly, the sound bouncing off the cold walls of the silent house and everything was suddenly a little bit brighter. I tried to imagine Edward and I laughing in this house. Laughing without mockery or bitterness or pain. Did I remember how to laugh like that?

"Would you like some help?" Esme asked, still grinning at me widely. She walked through the living room and disappeared into the kitchen. I waited, confused, and when I started to follow in the direction she had gone, she walked right back in to the living room holding a box of new vacuum belts.

At my surprised expression, she explained, "We kept a spare box in the closet by the sink."

Then, without being asked, she plopped down onto the ground next to the vacuum and pulled it over to her, lying it down gently at her side and taking the old belt out to replace it.

"Oh!" I cried, walking over to her. "No! You don't need to do that."

Esme smiled at me sweetly again. "I'd like to."

Then she stood up and turned the vacuum on. It ran perfectly, odorless and smooth. I gawked at her, unable to hide the grateful expression on my face. I really _didn't _prefer brooms.

She started vacuuming the living room rug, rolling over the fringed corners with practiced ease.

"Besides," she added with a wink in my direction, "I lived this house for over twenty years. You've lived here for a month. This is _my_ mess more than yours."

I felt a slight tug in my chest at her words. I realized suddenly that all her beauty, all her seeming self-deprecation, all her gentleness came from the simple fact that she was a mother. A _real_ mother. And when she looked at me she saw herself as _my_ mother. In law rather than blood, but it didn't seem to matter to her. She saw me as some lost child that she had never been given the chance to know, but that she loved anyway.

I wished, very suddenly, that I didn't have to lie to her. I wished I could tell her why the house was a mess, why the dust and the dirt and the disrepair didn't much matter compared to everything else that was wrong in this place. I wished I could tell her that when I saw the crumbling in the house I saw only her love and devotion to her husband and when it was all clean and neat and tidy, I still wouldn't love mine.

Instead, I said nothing. Rather, I grabbed the duster and some rags and began wiping off the filthy surfaces while she vacuumed. I stacked and organized magazines, picked up anything that was out of place, adjusted pictures, folded blankets.

When Esme was done vacuuming the living room, she suggested we rearrange the furniture. We moved all the chairs around, and the small bookshelf in the back corner. Eventually we switched the positions of the two couches so that the room pulled together in a much more cozy fashion.

The whole time we spoke about little things. Esme told me about Hartsel and about how she and Carlisle found this house, how they had raised Edward and Rosalie here. She talked about her husband and how much he loved to work outside. She told me that there was a vegetable garden out back that I would see in the spring. She talked about the horses and learning to ride with Alice and Jasper.

Her love for this place was apparent in every word she spoke.

As we worked, I could see her eyes glazing over as she became lost in her happiest memories. The way she spoke made me wish I could have seen the house back when it was a home.

I hadn't realized how much time we had spent on the living room, how long I had been listening to her stories, until she collapsed on the second couch with a sigh. I glanced out the window, surprised to see that it was already dark out. Looking to the clock, I saw that it was a little after six.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, horrified that I hadn't thought to offer her anything before this. We had been hard at work for over four hours and the way she spoke it was often hard to remember that this was _my_ house now. Around Esme, I felt like a guest and I wished that I was. She made the space warm.

She nodded, then said, "Why don't we go into the kitchen and grab some water?"

She pushed herself to her feet with a grin and motioned that I should go ahead of her into the kitchen. I saw immediately that she didn't want me to feel like I was serving her. We both went into the kitchen, perfectly at ease. She got her own glass and I got mine. We filled them up separately at the tap and then plopped down at the table, side by side.

"So, Bella, how are you liking it Hartsel?" Esme asked, taking a sip of her water.

It was the first time she had asked me a direct question all day. Most of the time I had been listening to her speak, adding a comment here or there, asking her questions about the house.

"It's…peaceful," I answered diplomatically.

Esme spluttered her water a little as she chuckled. "Oh you're so sweet." She reached her arm across my back and squeezed my shoulders briefly. "Yes, I know it can be boring as hell sometimes."

Her words startled a laugh out of me.

Esme winked and then elaborated, "I mean, is it a nice change from the city or is it an awful, difficult adjustment?"

"It's taking some adjusting, of course," I shrugged.

"You know," Esme said thoughtfully, putting her water down and looking at me intently. "I was wondering what made you decide to stay here."

I felt the color drain from my cheeks slowly as I processed her earnest expression, her intense interest in hearing my answer. I should have been expecting the question, I should have been prepared to answer. But there was something about Esme that was incredibly disarming.

At my silence, she continued, "You're not much like I expected you'd be." Then she quickly added, "I don't mean that in either a positive or a negative. You're just…different."

"How do you mean?" I asked slowly, dreading her answer.

"Well," she said, tapping her chin. She seemed to think for a moment before answering, "I remembered you being this incredibly confident, stylish woman. I was sure that you wouldn't let Edward keep you out here for longer than was absolutely necessary. And then I heard you were staying and…" she trailed off.

"He wanted to stay," I said quietly, not really answering. "Needed to."

Esme nodded in agreement. "I've talked to Edward about why he decided not to go back. I understand his need to reconnect with his family and I couldn't be happier about it." She was smiling at the thought of her son. Then the smile dropped from her face slightly and her brow furrowed. "But you…"

I could feel tears pricking in my eyes as she watched me carefully. I was so afraid that this would happen, that no matter how precisely I lied, that someone would be able to see the truth of what an awful person I was. I just wished with all my heart that it hadn't been Esme Cullen.

"You know, I thought maybe you wanted to become part of this family, too." Her words were frightening, but there was no accusation her tone. Not yet. I waited as she spoke with such a calm, understanding expression. "I thought maybe you were sick of the city and you just wanted to surround yourself with people who loved you."

"Sounds nice," I whispered.

Esme nodded, her voice as quiet as mine. "It does."

I couldn't drag my eyes away from hers, couldn't open my mouth to speak.

She continued, "Then I thought maybe you _didn't_ want to be here, but that you were just so in love with my son that when he decided to move out here you insisted on being allowed to stay with him."

I nodded, willing the tears not to fall. "That's a good reason." My voice was so quiet.

"Yes," Esme agreed. Then she reached her hand out and placed it around mine, squeezing gently. "But that's not the right one, either."

I pulled my hand from hers and wrapped my arms around my torso defensively, waiting for her get angry, waiting for her to tell me that I disgusted her, that I was using her son, that I didn't deserve to live in this house and be around her family and mourn at her husband's funeral.

Finally, weakly, I told her without pretense or affectation, "I guess we just…" I paused and corrected myself, "_I_ needed a change."

Esme smiled at me with a solemnity that held something like approval. She leaned over and pressed a motherly kiss to the top of my head, then brushed a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear in a motion that was so incredibly tender I almost broke down in front of her.

I might have, too, if I hadn't heard the front door open and a voice call out curiously, "Mom?"

My heart barely had time to begin its uncomfortable, frantic beating before Edward was walking through the kitchen door with a very confused expression on his face.

Esme and I shot to our feet at the same time, her in excitement and me in shock.

"Edward, darling," she cried happily, dancing forward and throwing her arms around him, kissing him twice on each cheek. "You're home early!"

Edward looked down at her, incredibly puzzled but not unhappy to see her. Then he turned to look at me, his expression unreadable as he asked her absently, "Am I?"

He continued to stare at me until I bobbed my head in greeting and quietly said, "Edward."

Edward nodded his own head in acknowledgement and then turned back to his mother, who was looking between us sadly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her, a light smile dancing around the corners of his mouth.

"I just popped in for a little visit," Esme explained with a wave of her hand. "I wasn't even planning to stay long enough to see you. I expect I should be heading home now or Rosalie might send the cops out to look for me." Then she let out another shimmery laugh. "It's so deliciously ironic having your own child giving you a curfew."

Edward smiled down at her in response and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I'll walk you out."

She nodded in agreement before walking back over to me. She hugged me tightly, wrapping her arms around me the same way she had at the funeral. I responded in kind, reluctant to let go when she pulled away.

"It was so nice to see you, Bella," she said, nothing but genuine affection in her voice and her eyes. "Do you think there's any way you'd be able to make it into the city next week some time? Maybe we could have lunch."

I glanced at Edward automatically. Not only would I apparently need his permission, but he would also be the only way I'd be able to get to the city. He'd have to give me a ride. He looked back at me, his expression hardening minutely when my eyes met his.

"I'd love to," I said pointedly, never looking away from Edward.

Esme smiled widely at me and gave me another little squeeze.

"Come on, Mom," Edward said, his voice was gentle but I could hear the hint of impatience in his voice. I knew it was because he was annoyed with me.

I watched, hanging back, as Esme took Edward's arm and he lead her out to the porch and helped her into her car. I watched their lips move with murmured conversation that I couldn't hear from inside the house. I leaned against the counter and folded my arms over my chest as Esme's car pulled out of the driveway and Edward made his way back up the porch steps.

I wasn't surprised when he walked back into the kitchen immediately. He wasn't surprised that I was still standing in the kitchen, waiting for him.

Our eyes locked in challenge and he snapped at me, "Why did she come here?"

"I have no idea." I rolled my eyes at the suspicion in his question. "You'd have to ask her."

Edward stepped up to the table but didn't sit down. He rested one of his hands on the smooth surface, curled into a fist.

"Did you call her?" he demanded, his eyes flashing at the idea.

"I don't have a _phone_, Edward," I sniffed, my words short and meant to convey my unwillingness to humor him. "The landline is cut off and my cell phone doesn't get service out here."

That gave him momentary pause and I watched as he blinked, taking in the information.

At last, he pressed on, "What did you say to her?"

At that, I felt my blood start to simmer, the inevitable flush rising to my cheeks. Edward was asking because he was afraid of what I had told her, what I had said. He wanted me to lie for him, to keep up this façade, and he wasn't sure that protecting myself was enough reason for me to do it anymore. Why he wanted to keep everything a secret from his family and friends, I had no idea. Obviously he would be seen as the wronged party and then both Esme and Alice would cut me out, isolating me further than even he could manage.

"Don't worry," I snapped, frustrated with myself and my own spinelessness. "I didn't tell her anything she didn't already know."

Edward's eyes widened with anger. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that your mother's an incredible woman who is not as naïve as you think," I shot back, thinking of her kind words and her encouraging eyes as she realized that something was wrong.

Esme didn't know what had happened to me, to both of us, but for a moment she made me feel like it wouldn't matter to her even if she did.

I knew that was a lie. Of course it would matter.

"What did you say to her, Bella?" Edward asked again, his voice more forceful.

"We just _talked_." I pushed myself up from the counter and threw my hands up in frustration. "I told her about my debilitating head cold on Friday that prevented me from dinner and she asked me how I was liking it here."

Once again, Edward blinked in surprise. This time it was in response to my mention of Friday night as he realized that I had seamlessly confirmed his lies without a second thought. We were partners in our deceit without either of us knowing why the other was in on it.

"And what did you say?" he asked again, slowly.

"Why don't you ask _her_?" I sneered.

Edward took a step towards me and growled, "I'm asking _you_."

I took a step towards him in response, jutting my chin out in defiance. He would speak to me that way if he chose, but I was done taking it from him.

"Are you asking me what I said to her or how I'm liking it here?" I asked him with derision.

I saw Edward's jaw clench tightly, his entire body quivering with tension for a moment before he slapped an open palm onto the table with a loud _thud_.

"You know what, Bella?" he snapped. "I don't fucking _care_ how you're liking it here."

I looked at him for a moment silently, believing with everything in me that he wasn't lying. There was no compassion in his eyes, no defense in his posture. There was only him and me and the truth between us. I almost couldn't be angry at him.

Almost.

"I told her that I needed a change from New York," I said, swallowing my loathing and spitting the words back at him. "I told her it was _peaceful _here."

Edward's eyebrows raised slightly but his lips were still tight with conflict and he didn't respond right away. I couldn't tell if he was surprised by my answer or not.

Then he chuckled darkly, "Well, look at you. Such a fucking accomplished little liar."

Knowing that I had reached my limit, knowing that I everything I had said had been just one more act of cowardice on my part, knowing that Edward could see all that fear and hating him for it being right about me, I walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed the two abandoned water glasses. I emptied them in the sink and then placed them side by side at bottom with two little clunks.

I walked towards the stairs, turning to him without stopping as I said firmly, "I didn't lie to Esme."

I didn't wait to see the expression on his face or watch him realize what I meant.

I was already past him when I thought I heard him whisper, "Lucky her."


	15. The Fight

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** I'd like to personally apologize to about 80% of my reviewers for my lack of fanfiction reading. I'll read "Wide Awake" as soon as I can, since apparently I'd be a "damn fool" not to. I pretty much only dork on "Hydraulic Level 5" and "Fault" at the moment, but I'm open to anything. I obviously love to read, I just haven't really found time to super-delve into this fandom.

I'd also like to shout it on out to the Twilighted forum for being pretty crazy chill. AmyZini, CatMasters, immortal, Aviana, WONDERWALL, mallmouse, melee, superending, all you HL5 floozies that stop by from time to time with your multicolored fonts...you're all wonderful. Especially Goster, who's my super secret quasi-beta. I should probably get a proper one, shouldn't I?

Anyway, I lied again. No reflection on their physical relationship via inner monologue in this chapter either. Honestly, it'll probably be within the next two chapters. But I still won't promise anything because I suck at that. Really, though, don't even worry about it because it's not an 'answer' or an 'explanation', I just plan to have Bella reflect (for the reader's benefit) on the physicality of their relationship. There's nothing that I consider physical abuse between Edward and Bella in this story, but many of you already feel as though Edward has _already_ crossed that line based on some of their brief interactions. I'm going to keep that pretty grey for you guys. Because grey is where I live.

* * *

**The Fight**

I stood in front of the dark wood of the door, shifting from foot to foot impatiently for almost twenty minutes. I reached out and grabbed the knob, releasing it quickly with a yelp as spark of static shot through my body. As if the fear crackling through me wasn't already electricity in my blood, my heartbeat.

I had been cleaning the second floor for the past two days, moving from room to room with a steady, curious hand. Some rooms needed new wallpaper, fresh paint, more furniture, but I was at least able to figure out how to dust and mop and scrub. Every improvement was only on the surface, and it wasn't permanent. The cleaning was a way to keep busy, not to fix anything.

There was one room on the second floor that I had yet to touch, though.

Whenever I moved in the house, I moved in an arc around Edward's room as if there was some invisible force keeping me from entering. His presence, his anger lingered through the house as if he didn't leave me alone all day. Every time I looked at that dark wood that kept me out, I couldn't help but feel him. Feel the disapproval or the shock or the fury _he_ would feel if he came home to his room, cared for by his wretched wife.

Part of me insisted that he wouldn't mind – that anything I did in there would be met with indifference – but I had the feeling it was the same part of me that always wanted to get a rise out of him. And I think it was that part of me that had me standing there, in front of his door, at six in the evening after avoiding it all day.

The idea that he could come home any moment was torturous, but not as bad as imagining what tomorrow would look like if his was the only room left that I hadn't touched. I would have hours and hours to spend in there. If I went in now I could convince myself to do a quick sweep, could force myself to walk in and walk out without a second glance, could even just peek my head inside and then turn right back around if I was too afraid.

I reached out and seized the knob, pushing the door open forcefully.

I stepped forward, my hand fumbling along the wall for a moment before I found the light switch. I flicked it on with a brush of my fingers and gasped as light flooded the room. I stood, paralyzed, for several seconds as I took in the sight before me. I could feel my brows furrow in confusion at the same time my entire body tensed up in shock, my mouth falling open slightly. Whatever I had been expecting to see, it wasn't what met my eyes when I opened the door.

In New York, Edward had kept our brownstone immaculately clean. Beds made; clothes hanging neatly in closets or folded into drawers; books, medical journals, periodicals stacked on shelves and arranged by month and year. When we had moved out to Colorado he hadn't lifted a finger to clean up the house, but I had just assumed it was because it was not his own mess, that he had – much like myself – felt like a guest in the house. Until I walked into his bedroom, he might as well have not lived here; he hadn't left a single mark on the place.

I stood, immobile, in the doorway and turned my head slowly from side to side as I examined the room, feeling all my preconceptions ripped from me.

It was a disaster.

I stepped into the room with a certain amount of trepidation as I tried to reconcile what I was seeing with any part of Edward I had ever known. The floor was completely covered in clothes, the boxes from the move were strewn around carelessly, overturned and kicked aside. There was a bookshelf against the wall which held a mess of loose papers and folders, the books that had previously sat there were littered over the floor. I looked to the bed at the center of the room and saw a twisting and bunching of sheets and blankets, proof of restless nights and disregard in the morning.

I couldn't understand it. This wasn't Edward's room; not back then and certainly not now. He was always calm and friendly, calm and loving, calm and pissed off. This room didn't belong to calm. This was the sanctuary of a restless man, mad and chaos.

Finally, I forced myself to move forward.

Unsure of where to start, I decided to pick up clothes as I walked to the center of the room, not thinking too deeply about the apparent change that had shaken my husband so completely. When my arms were full, I flung the clothes onto the bed and turned to gather more. As I lifted article after article, I decided that this wasn't the product of a single angry outburst. Most of the clothes I brought to the bed were dirty from working in them all day and had been thrown onto the floor instead of being washed.

This was neglect at its most ferocious.

When I had moved all the clothes I could see from the floor to the bed, I gathered up the corners of the sheets, using it as a makeshift laundry bag. I dragged the heavy load down to the laundry room on the first floor.

As I sorted the lights from the darks, my eyes lit on a familiar, ratty grey t-shirt with green writing across the front. I hesitated for just a moment before reaching out and pulling the shirt out of the pile. I flattened it out on the top of the machine and traced the letters with my finger to spell out "Dartmouth".

I remembered that day starting with a fight.

"Jake, I seriously don't know why the fuck you even invited him!" I yelled, turning my head to the side so he could hear me as he was shutting the front door to our apartment.

I heard Jacob fumbling behind me, his arms full of bags and snowboards as he struggled to keep up with me. I swung our boots by their laces, the heels knocking against my thighs when they fell back down. My face was flushed with annoyance as we made our way out to the car.

"He asked what we were up to this weekend. What was I supposed to say?" Jacob demanded, his voice slightly defensive.

I sighed as I opened the trunk of the van. "You could have _lied_."

Jacob laughed and heaved everything up into the trunk beside me and wiped his brow. Looking at me with a crooked smile he replied, "Well, that's just rude, Bells."

I huffed as I plopped our boots over the rest of the gear and slammed the trunk door shut.

"Besides," Jacob added, nudging my should with his, "he's our _friend_."

I made a face at him and folded my arms, knowing he was right.

Edward Cullen _was_ my friend.

When I had run into him at the hospital and he had helped me with my broken arm, it wasn't the last time I saw him. Before I left the hospital that day, I gave him my phone number with Jacob's arm wrapped around my waist.

He never called.

Bad luck and clumsiness landed me back in the hospital only a few weeks later and I gave him my number again, telling him that if I was going to be taking advantage of his friendship I should probably be his friend first.

After that, he became a more casual acquaintance. I would call him from time to time for a chat, meet him on campus for a coffee, meet him at the deli outside the hospital for lunch. He would double date with Jacob and I, always bringing a different girl with him. We would joke that he was a promiscuous bachelor, that he was too picky, that he had commitment issues. But they were always just jokes.

What Edward Cullen _actually_ was, was a mystery.

For all the dates he went on with Jacob and I, I was positive that he hadn't slept with a single one of the girls he brought. And I knew it wasn't because he was picky or elitist; he was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I had ever met. And he certainly didn't have any trouble committing, not to anything. He was committed to his work, his study, and – most of all – his friends.

Still, when Jacob had run into him at a bar on Thursday night and had invited him up to Mt. Baker with us, I couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed.

"Come on, Bella." Jacob slung an arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze. "I felt bad for the guy. He's got some friend of his visiting from Dartmouth and he's got no idea what to do with her."

I vaguely remembered Edward mentioning something about some little friend of his family visiting for a week or so. She had apparently idolized him to the point where she had followed him to his alma mater, and now she was traveling across the country just for a social visit.

When I had wiggled my eyebrows at him suggestively he'd laughed and pushed my shoulder lightly. "Gross, Bella! She's a freshman! She's like a little sister to me! Seriously. Gross."

My irritation only grew when I remembered that we'd be having a teenager along for the ride.

Jacob had been not-so-subtle recently with his hints that he was gearing up to ask me to marry him. I had thought, when he had told me about this weekend trip, that he was planning to do it then. Of course, throwing Edward and his little college friend into the mix didn't rule it out, but it certainly took away from the romantic vibe just a little bit.

"Are you sure you didn't invite him just because you're afraid to be alone with me?" I teased, batting my eyelashes innocently.

Jacob smirked at me and reached his other arm across my stomach, gripping my hip and pulling me up against him tightly. I squeaked in surprise as he looked down at me, unmistakable lust in his eyes.

"Definitely not," he said huskily as he leaned down to brush his lips against mine.

I strained up towards him, winding my arms around his neck tightly. I felt his arm drop from my shoulder down to my waist were it linked with the other to wrap around me securely. As the kiss deepened, I felt his mouth open to breathe hot against me, searching for an entrance. I granted it with a moan and he crushed me tighter to his body, bending me backwards.

I felt him pull away abruptly as the hum of an engine pulled up right behind us, parking with a click. My face flushed red, I dropped my arms and pushed away from Jacob, giving him a smile and a wink. He grinned widely at me and waggled his eyebrows.

I looked down at the car that had parked about a foot away from where we were standing. The driver's side opened first, a very flustered Edward jumping out almost immediately.

"Sorry we're late!" he called apologetically.

I laughed at the sight of him: tousled bronze hair, ratty old Dartmouth t-shirt, bare feet, as he staggered onto the December cold of the street having, apparently, just rolled out of bed. He opened the back door of the car and grabbed a handful of skis, boots, mittens, hats, and some bags that he was sure to have packed last night.

"It's fine," I assured him, my earlier annoyance forgotten at the sight of him. It was so rare to see Edward at all disorganized or unprepared, I had to admit that it was adorable. Jacob glanced at me with a knowing smile, seeming to be equally amused by our friend. "Here, let me help you."

I walked over to the side of the car where he stood and scooped a pair of skis and poles out of his arms before he could protest.

"Thanks, Bella," he sighed gratefully, slinging the bags over his shoulders and following me to the van with much more ease, either because I had helped him with the load or because I wasn't angry with him.

Jacob opened the trunk again and we piled Edward's things into the back, over ours. Edward and I struggled for a few minutes – with a lot of cursing – over how to fit his skis in at the right angle. Finally, I turned back to Jacob to ask if we needed anything else, only to find he wasn't standing next to the van anymore. I whipped around to see him standing next to the passenger side door of Edward's car, holding it open as he took a smaller duffel from the girl who had just emerged.

As Jacob closed the door behind her, she moved past him to walk towards Edward and I. I felt a little gasp die in my throat. She was slender and pale, her hair a rich red-brown, her eyes wide and expressive and the most beautiful chocolate color. Her features were angular but delicate, with a tiny smile on full lips. She was gorgeous, there wasn't any doubt about that. What had startled me, though, was the way Jacob was looking at her as she walked up to me with her hand outstretched.

I placed my hand in hers politely as she introduced herself, "Hello. I'm Nessie."

My hand clenched tightly, crushing the green words on the shirt in my fist as my eyes pricked with angry tears. I brushed at my eyes – not allowing the tears to fall – and threw the shirt into the machine first, burying it under a small mountain of light colors and slamming the top shut, jerking the dial roughly to start the cycle.

I had told myself a million times not to think about that day, not to think about _her_. Not to think about how the last time Jacob had been completely and utterly mine, I had been annoyed with him. Not to think about it because none of it fucking mattered anymore.

I made my way back upstairs quickly, determined to put unwanted thoughts from my mind. I strode through the door, back into Edward's room, and froze in my tracks.

Edward was standing in the middle of the room.

His back was to me and he seemed to be looking down at the floor, cleared of clothes. He wasn't moving, but I could see his hands were fists at his sides.

"Shit," I breathed quietly, without meaning to.

Edward wheeled around to face me and I could see the inevitable fury written all over his features, just as I had expected. I bit my lip as I stared back at him, realizing that saving this room until the end of the day, anticipating his anger...I had wanted this.

"What are you _doing_ in here?" his voice was loud and quivering.

I gathered whatever courage I had and walked right past him, reaching my hand out to run it along the disorganized bookshelf.

"I was just…cleaning up a little," I shrugged, my nervousness becoming nonchalance. I could feel his eyes following my movement. "I finished the rest of the second floor and I thought - "

He cut me off, "You are _not_ allowed in this room."

"Seriously, Edward?" I laughed and sat down on the stripped bed, bare and soft." It's what…_forbidden_? Should I stay out of the West Wing, too?"

"Don't mock me," he growled.

"Well, then don't be so ridiculous."

Edward took a threatening step towards the bed and it took all the self-control I had not to leap up or cower away from him. Instead I sat up straight and looked him in the eye when he said, "You're not welcome here, Bella."

"I noticed," I replied dryly, not allowing myself to be intimidated. "But you obviously aren't keeping anything around here clean, so I thought I'd just help a little by - "

"Did I not make myself clear when I said that I do _not_ want your help?" He interrupted again.

"Jesus, Edward," I said, hopping off the bed again to stand in front of him. "Be a little more melodramatic."

I saw Edward's jaw clench tightly for a moment and he looked away. I could see the frustration in his face, the former calm that had become control. Finally, I saw him swallow his rage and turn back to face me.

His voice was quiet when he asked, "What do I have to say for you to take me seriously?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, pretending to think for a minute. "Maybe an _explanation_?"

"I. Don't. Want. You. Here." He said each word as a careful hiss, the anger rising and falling, wavering under incredible strain as he tried to speak softly.

"That's not an explanation," I insisted, annoyed.

"That's the only one you get," he shot back.

"_Why_, Edward?" I prodded, done listening to his cryptic warnings to stay away. "It's not like you have anything to hide in here, right?"

He paused for just a moment, before his slight surprise turned into a sneer. "What would I have to hide from _you_?"

Because of course there was nothing that could shock me, nothing that could disgust me, nothing that could anger me or excite me or make me cry. I could hear it in the way he spoke to me that he truly believed me devoid of anything resembling emotion.

I was a heartless bitch and he was just a victim of my cruelty.

"Stay the fuck out of here," Edward repeated. "I don't want to have to deal with you any more than I'm forced to."

"Well, that's going to be pretty fucking difficult considering we live together." I took a step forward as I raised my voice, my anger finally surfacing. "I'm a _person_ Edward. I live and breathe and walk and talk and laugh and cry and I get hungry and I feel pain and sooner or later you're _going_ to have to fucking deal with me."

He barely missed a beat before responding blankly, "Well, let's hope it's later, then."

That was it.

Maybe something inside me had made me come in here to pick a fight with him. Maybe I felt like we needed it. Maybe I knew exactly what to say to get a rise out of him, exactly how to push his buttons. But he knew exactly how to push mine right back.

"_God_, what are you so scared of?" I shouted, louder than I intended.

Edward's voice was low and firm. "There's nothing you can do to me that will scare me."

I could feel him right there with me, about to snap loose. I knew because the pale of his skin was flushed red; I knew because his entire body was tense; I knew because his eyes flashed emerald and opal, ice and fire. And I knew because he was lying.

"Well, good," I said loud as I crossed my arms in a challenge. "Because I'm done doing nothing all day and I'm done being quiet and I'm done being alone and I'm done pretending you don't exist. And _I'm_ done being scared."

"Scared? You?" Edward laughed horribly, mocking me as his straight teeth glistened white and sharp. "What could _you_ possibly have to be afraid of?"

I stood before him and didn't respond for a moment as I sized him up. There was a foot of burning space between our chests and I wondered how far I could take it, how far I could push him, before it consumed us both. Truth or lie or speak nothing at all, those were the choices I always had.

"You," I whispered.

There was a brief pause, an intake of breath from each of us, and then Edward was laughing again. It was a different laugh, though. It was less awful, more unsure. "Don't insult me, Bella," he finally insisted. "You've never been afraid of me."

"I'm afraid of you right now," I admitted, unable to stop myself. "Every single fucking day I wake up afraid because I'm trapped in a house with a man I don't fucking recognize!" I yelled at him, leaning closer to him as if it would help him really hear me.

"Trapped?" I saw his face go from amused back to angry in a split second, his voice raising again as he processed my accusation. "_You_ think _you're_ trapped?"

"Yes, I'm fucking trapped!" I snapped back.

"Why?" His voice was loud now, frantic and fast. "No phone? No computer? No car? Those aren't the things that confine a person." He paused before pointedly adding, "Especially not _you_."

"Oh, don't fucking pretend you know me," I spat.

"You're right," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I should never presume to know what goes on in _your_ twisted mind."

"Oh, go ahead and act so high and mighty, like _you're _such a fucking saint! Like you've never done anything dishonest or awful or cruel in your entire life!"

He took a step forward, closing the space a little more, and jabbed his finger at me as he replied, "I've never lied to you."

"Yeah," I chuckled humorlessly. "Because lying requires actual _speaking_. Which is something that you apparently don't _do_ anymore."

Edward took a step back and straightened up. "Not to you," he said quietly.

"Jesus Christ!" I threw my hands up, my frustration reaching a boiling point. "You know what, Edward? _I've_ got a question for you, so here's your big fucking chance to show me how fucking honest you are. Why am I _here_?"

The question was met with silence.

I continued, "You don't want my apology, you don't want me to _earn_ your forgiveness, you don't want to talk to me or listen to a word I have to fucking say! So _why_?"

I could see his fists clench again as he still didn't reply.

"What do you _want_ from me?" I demanded at last, my voice dropping low.

Finally he hissed, "Not a fucking thing."

"Then _why_ am I here?"

There was another pause, shorter this time. Before I could start yelling at him to answer me, he explained, "Because you won't fucking _leave_."

"Don't get cute with me, Edward," I exhaled, my tone venomous.

His mouth cocked into a little smirk, the light in his eyes amused and dangerous. Everything about his stance, his expression, his energy, was a warning. But when I had told him I was done being afraid, I had been telling the truth. I wasn't going to back down, not from his rage and not from his silence.

After a moment, I was sure he wasn't going to say anything else. I opened my mouth and said quietly, "You know why I won't leave? I won't leave because…" I paused, but it only took me a moment to find the answer. I already knew it. "I shouldn't."

"You don't owe me a fucking thing," Edward growled immediately, as if my admitted sense of obligation offended him in some unforgivable way.

I paused, openeing my mouth and then closing it.

"Don't I?" I whispered finally, not sure if he would hear me or if I wanted him to.

He heard. I could see it in the way his eyes widened and then narrowed in fury that he had heard me. Without warning, he turned on his heel and headed towards the door.

"Don't fucking walk away from this!" I called after him. Then, before I knew what was happening I was chasing after him. I caught him right at the door and grabbed his shirt, throwing all my weight back. He must have been surprised, because he lost his balance slightly, allowing me to shove him up against the doorframe violently. "I'm sick of these fucking arguments ending in fucking silence!"

He looked momentarily stunned as he looked down at me. My hands were pressed firmly against his chest, with my body leaned over him, my weight holding him to the wood. I was heaving breaths and spitting fire, demanding his attention and seizing what was offered.

"Take your hands off me." His voice was frightening and quiet and I could feel his entire body coil beneath my hands, preparing to shove me away.

I released him but didn't step back.

"Why did you bring me here?" I whispered. "Why didn't you leave me back in New York? Why didn't you divorce me?"

He was silent.

"Why am I _here_, Edward?" I begged.

We stared at each other for a long time, our bodies on either side of the doorframe. I could feel the proximity like a blaze of fire against my skin. The quiet burned for several seconds.

Then I heard him barely whisper, "Get out."

"No," I shook my head. "I'm not finish – "

"GET OUT!"

All of a sudden his voice was thunder in my ears. I leapt away from him like I had received an electric shock, into the hallway. In an instant his face was red, eyes blazing, teeth snapping, and he was a man without reason.

"Edwa – "

"FUCKING GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" he yelled, spit flying from his mouth as his arm shot up to point towards the door.

I spun around and sprinted down the stairs, taking them two, three at a time. Tears blurred my vision as I ran, fear and flames at my back.

"GET OUT!" I could hear him still screaming from the top of the stairs, "GET THE FUCK OUT!"

His voice was insanity and agony and tears and hate.

I ripped open the front door and flew out into the dark.


	16. The Solace

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone, just wanted to say thank you all so much for the reviews. I can't believe how many people are reading this depressing little fic now. It's strange and really kind of wonderful. I'm just sort of popping on in to post this before I take off for the day, so sorry that this Author's Note is so brief. Or...you're welcome? Yes, anyway, thank you to everyone who is recommending this story and spreading it around like some kind of super angsty STD. Please let me know if you got it from someone else so I can go thank them personally or give them a shoutout or bake them a cookie or something.

* * *

**The Solace**

I sprinted down the porch steps and onto the drive without turning back once to see if he was following me. I didn't need to. I knew he was still at the top of the stairs, still shrieking as loud as he could, hysterical and immobile.

I flew into the yard, my heart pounding as I headed towards the hills and the light that I could barely see beyond it. I could feel my breath coming in ragged, harsh gasps against the cold and the tears. Adrenaline was coursing through my body as ran into the untouched snow that coated the land in white.

I didn't feel the cold of the ice through the thin socks I was wearing, my feet moving so fast I wasn't sure they were touching the ground.

His voice was pounding in my head and I didn't know if I was imagining it, or if he was still screaming at no one. Neither would surprise me.

My mind was leaping from image to image, sound to sound with no warning or sign of slowing.

What had been cold ice had melted away into heat; into a blazing fire that I hadn't been prepared for or had even considered to be a possibility. All this time, not knowing what he was thinking, wondering what was happening across the distance, and it had taken a single snap from me to bring him crashing up to the surface. It had been my intention to do so, I was sure of that now, but I hadn't even imagine what was lying in wait underneath.

I was shaking with violent sobs as I worked my way through the drifts. The snow was up to my knees, then inches below my feet as I frantically made my way up the hill. I wasn't making much headway, but my body was moving at a frenzied pace. I could barely see through the hysterical tears pouring down my cheeks and blurring my vision into white and blackness.

I worked my way through the snow, taking deep shuddering breaths at it registered with me at last that I had no one. No matter how awful Edward had been to me, no matter how cold or distant, violent or angry, he was still there.

He had always been there.

And now he wasn't.

I was crying and running down the street, my feet falling hard on the wet pavement in pounding slaps. I wiped at my eyes violently as I ran, trying to get Jacob's face out of my head. If I could just make it to the hospital, everything would be alright.

I ran over five miles before I staggered into the florescent light of the ER. I stumbled through the double doors and flung my hands up to the glass at the triage desk.

"Edward!" I cried, still sobbing. "I'm looking for Edward Cullen!"

The nurse stood up, her brow furrowed with worry, and she quickly paged him before ushering me into a private room to wait for him. She asked me if I was alright, took my vitals, asked me what had happened. I simply shook my head over and over, saying that everything was fine, that I was fine.

I had never been _less_ fine.

She was taking my pulse when Edward crashed through the door, his face frantic with worry.

"Bella?" He reached out to me.

I leapt up from the chair I was in, knocking the nurse aside in my desperation to get to him. I flung my arms around his neck tightly, crushing my body to his as I burrowed my face into his shoulder. I felt him ease, just a little, the pain.

"Edward," I whispered, my sobbing tapering off as his arms wrapped around me.

I could remember that feeling of comfort as I ran through the night, the cold of the snow beginning to burn at my feet. There had been nothing in him back then that would ever scare me, that would ever drive me away. I had come to him and he had been there.

Before Edward, it had been Jacob I had run.

And he was gone now, too.

It was me. It had to be me.

I was the common denominator.

I took a bad step, my ankle rolling slightly and I slipped in the snow. I fell to the ground, my arms flinging out to protect me from impact. The snow crunched and gave, sharp under my hands. I groaned slightly, but I couldn't feel pain through the rough tearing in my chest and the spastic jerking of my entire weeping body. I could feel the wet of the snow begin to seep into the front of my shirt, my pants.

I gasped panting sobs as I pushed myself up and kept moving forward.

I was in his lap, curled up and safe as he rocked me back and forth. His arms were so skinny, they were pale and wrong, but they were solid.

"Jacob is leaving me," I whimpered, as if in physical pain. I felt like I was. "He _has_ left me," I corrected myself.

"What are you talking about?" Edward asked, startled. I could feel him draw away slightly to look down at me. I clung to him desperately, not allowing him to move back, and I pulled him closer. I felt his chest move up and down as he sighed against me. I fisted my hands tightly into his shirt and shoved my face into his neck, unable to make the pain stop.

I could see it all happen again, so fast and so unexpected. Had I known? Had I known the moment he looked at her that he was done with me?

It had been two weeks since we had returned from our trip. Not even two weeks. It had been ten days. Ten torturous days of watching him drift and disconnect. Not speaking, not touching, not caring. He hadn't slept with me since the first night in the lodge. It had been violent and passionate rather than tender, almost like he was trying to prove something to himself. After that, he always found a reason not to be near me.

When we came back, returned to our apartment, I couldn't feel him with me anymore. For ten days we lived in the strange of him pulling away and the silence of me waiting. We lived and I couldn't feel him.

Less than an hour ago he stood up straight and told me that he was in love with Nessie.

His words about how he couldn't help it, how he felt drawn to her, how he had never felt anything like it, never met anyone like her, they went unnoticed in my haze of disbelief.

When he told me that he was marrying her – when I realized that the ring meant for me was on _her _finger – I bolted out the door and ran to the only person I had left.

"He's gone," I said hollowly.

I felt Edward's arms tighten around me, felt the heat of his lips against the top of my head, heard the murmured words and comforting timbre of his voice, and suddenly I couldn't be close enough to him.

I pulled back, my hands still grasping at his coat, his shirt. I looked at him through blurry eyes and whispered, "Will you take me home with you?"

I reached the top of the hill breathlessly and looked down at the cabin below me, the only place in the world I had left to go. The pastures that were home to the large, dark shadowy shapes were empty, barren against the storm. I could imagine the horses, safe and tucked in their little barn behind the house, and I wished desperately that I was one of them.

I could see the light flickering cheerily out the windows, making little squares of yellow against the white snow, illuminating and warm.

The air was eerily calm, the snow silent after the violence of the blizzard. Everything was hushed and still here, untouched by the fear and anger behind me. I could feel it still raging on in the house that was no longer mine. Had never been mine.

My breath hitched and a sob caught in my throat. I stumbled forward once more, trying my best to stay upright as I staggered down the hill into empty fields.

Edward stood in front of me, his eyes wide as I peeled my shirt off and tossed it onto the floor of his apartment. My eyes were still puffy and bloodshot from crying and I wondered momentarily if I looked repulsive to him. That thought was quickly banished from my mind when I saw his jaw clench; an unmistakable look of lust crossing his features.

"You love me, don't you, Edward?" I asked him, my voice sultry and wavering as I unbuttoned my pants.

"W-what?" he stuttered, unable to tear his eyes away from my hands, which were slowly sliding my pants over my hips and down to the floor. "What are you doing?"

I took a step towards him in my underwear. I could see him shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, his eyes fixed on my body.

"I just need to know – right now – if you love me," I said plainly.

Edward's eyes snapped up to meet mine.

I could see the shock all over his face, the complete and genuine surprise at my question. I felt my stomach sink, my cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment as I realized that I might have been wrong. He had always been impossible to read, always been a mystery to me. He was so guarded, so careful about expressing his feelings. I had no reason to think that he loved me, no indication that would make me think it was true. Except that every once and a while, he would look at me like he couldn't see anyone else.

But that didn't mean anything.

Hurt shot through me and I backed away from him in mortification.

"Bella," he said, the firmness in his voice halting me.

I lifted my eyes slowly to meet his.

And there it was. _That look_.

Jacob had never looked at me the way that Edward Cullen was looking at me right now; flushed and puffy-eyed, embarrassed and in my underwear.

I knew I hadn't been wrong.

This time, Edward was the one to take a step forward. Then another and another until he was standing right in front of me. I watched him reach his hands out tentatively, his eyes locked with mine. I didn't stop him as his fingers barely made contact with the naked skin just under my bra. My flesh pimpled and I shuddered as he ran the tips of his fingers down my ribcage on either side reverently.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered more devoutly than any prayer I had ever heard.

I stood before him, trembling, afraid to move forward towards him, afraid to scare him away. I could feel fire in his touch, addiction and craving. I couldn't get enough of the feeling, of watching his hands, of seeing in his eyes the way he wanted me.

The way that Jacob didn't want me anymore.

"Tell me that you love me," I said, my voice matching his quiet.

One of his hands moved from my side, gently up to my shoulder, to my neck, until it was wrapped in my hair, holding my head gently as his thumb stroked easily against the corner of my jaw. I felt him move forward. My skin was electric beneath his and his lips were breathing against mine.

"I've always loved you, Bella."

I stumbled up to the door, my entire body shaking violently and uncontrollably. The sobs bubbled up to the surface once more, fresh pain for the memory as it swam and dipped before my eyes. I was unable to ignore it, unable to shove it away, his yelling and screaming and crying cutting through the tenderness of his touch, reminding me what he had become.

I lifted my arm to the wood and knocked loudly, pounding my fist against solid, wondering how long it would take before the skin became red and cracked open.

The door swung open to reveal a very confused Alice.

"Bella? What are you doing h…?" Her voice died in her throat as she took me in, her eyes travelling over my light shirt that was wet with snow, my dirty jeans, my loose hair hanging in tangled snarls around my face, sticky with snot and tears.

Alice's hands whipped out suddenly, clenching around my arms as she dragged me into the cabin, her eyes wide and shocked.

"Bella, what _happened_?" Her voice was all concern, all worry. The confusion was still there.

At the compassionate look on her face, I felt myself breaking all over again. Edward's face had looked exactly like that once. The tears started to fall again and I wrapped my arms around my shaking body as I tried to speak.

My mouth opened and closed soundlessly as I shook my head.

"Bella," Alice said firmly, her hands on either side of my shoulders. "Bella, where's Edward? What happened?" she repeated, her voice authoritative now.

"W-we…we got in a fight," I finally managed through my violent, heaving sobs and shivering.

Alice's face softened with understanding and she nodded sympathetically.

"I'm so sorry I came over here like this," I continued helplessly. "I didn't mean to be so overly dramatic – pounding on your door crying and barging into your house in the middle of the night. I just…I didn't know where else to go."

Alice wrapped a tiny arm around my shoulder and led me forward, towards the fire that was blazing on the other side of the room. I could see Jasper standing to one side silently, his face filled with the same confused sympathy.

"Oh, Bella!" I heard Alice cry suddenly. "Your feet!"

I looked down and gasped slightly.

My socks were frozen and ripped to shreds, hanging in tatters around my ankles. The bottom of my feet were bare against the floor and I was tracking footprints of blood through their house, staining the wood.

"I'm so sorry," I cried.

"You're sorry?" Alice asked with disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."

She seized my hand and changed directions, pulling me up the stairs behind her. I hobbled along after her, trying to step on my toes so I wouldn't leave ugly red tracks.

Alice guided me into the little bathroom and sat me down on the edge of the bathtub.

"Here," she said gently. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I tried to help her as she lifted my feet to swing them into the tub, shaking and crying quietly.

She turned on the water and pulled off the pieces of tattered fabric still barely attached to my ankles. I hissed when the heat of the water met the pounding cold of my toes. They weren't white: I had been moving fast enough or wasn't exposed long enough to get frostbite, but I was sure that it had been the ice that was responsible for tearing up my skin.

I felt Alice begin to scrub at my feet a little, massaging feeling back into them quickly. She drained the pink water when she was done and then drew a full bath. Her hands were tugging at my shirt and I lifted my arms to help her as she started to undress me carefully.

"What happened, Bella?" she asked one more time. This time her voice was less frantic, less worried. It was quiet and I knew that she expected an answer.

When all my clothes were off, I slid into the bathtub with a staggered sigh, finally managing to control the steady flow of tears.

I looked down at my hands under the water, then back at Alice.

"We had a fight," I said again, my voice steady this time. "He told me to leave."

Alice's face flushed slightly in anger. "In the middle of the night?" she demanded. "With no shoes? No clothes? He made you leave? Just like that?"

I turned away from her indignation, embarrassed.

"It wasn't really like that," I said hesitantly. "It was…_heated_."

"That doesn't matter!" She threw her hands up in annoyance. "He wasn't even thinking about you! About your safety!"

She stood up and began pacing back and forth, muttering quietly under her breath.

"Alice," I whispered her name, wishing for calm.

She turned to look back at me and shrugged with a soft, apologetic smile.

When the water ran cold, she grabbed a towel for me and dressed me in heavy flannel pajamas, wrapping a blanket around me and leading me back downstairs. She made a little makeshift bed by the fire with a large chair and a footrest pressed together, tucking me in so that I was warm and comfortable, and then she sat down next to me in the smaller chair.

After a long silence, I heard her ask quietly, "What was it about?"

I looked over to her, confused.

"The fight," she elaborated. "What was it about?"

I shifted in the chair and pulled the blanket closer around my body defensively as my heart started beating faster in my chest.

"I don't know," I shrugged, watching the fire crackle and dance in front of me. "Everything."

Alice nodded quietly.

She wasn't going to push it.

"Please, Bella," she said kindly. "Stay as long as you need."

I nodded mutely, not knowing what else I could do.

We were silent for a long time.

Finally, I turned my head back to Alice. She was looking into the fire pensively, just as I had been.

"Alice." I said her name, the volume and clarity of my voice was startling against my own ears. Alice turned to look at me curiously. "We've been lying to you. To you, to Esme, to the whole family."

Her brows furrowed as she frowned in confusion. "About what?"

"We're not happy," I said vaguely, feeling my eyes beginning to prick with tears once more. "We're not…_anything_."

I could feel myself starting to cry again, long sweeping tears that were calm and hopeless. Alice reached out and wrapped her hand around my arm comfortingly.

"Bella…" she said softly, not knowing what to say and not really understanding my words.

Her kindness, the contact, only made me cry harder.

"How did we get so broken?" I cried, the question useless and tired.

Alice moved forward off her chair and wrapped her arms around me. I sobbed into her shoulder, into her shirt, as he whispered comfortingly into my ear. She held me in the warm protection of her friendly embrace for a long time. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours, but I finally stopped crying.

I was barely conscious when I heard Jasper's murmured voice telling Alice that she should go to bed. I felt her arms drop away from my body gently, leaving me cold and without contact. I curled in on myself reflexively, my own inadequate arms trying to replace hers as I fell into a restless sleep.


	17. The Chair

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **So about half of you liked the incorporated flashbacks and half of you found them distractingly confusing. Those of you who liked them...will enjoy this chapter. The rest of you, keep in mind that's you're supposed to feel disoriented. It's a good thing. Bella is unsure in this chapter what is real and what is memory (dream) and you should be too, since she's telling the story. I won't use this device often, but it will happen from time to time when Bella is distressed or finds herself in a crazy, unstable situation. I apologize in advance.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the reviews. They are to me what this story is to you. I'm addicted to reading them and I geek out when I see more in my inbox. Creepily co-dependent author/reader relationships FTW!

* * *

**The Chair**

I could feel myself drifting in and out of sleep during the night. I was uncomfortable, my feet itched and stung, I was too warm when the fire was blazing and too cold when it eventually smoldered and died. Every time I shifted in the small space of the armchair, I would blink awake for an instant and slide back under immediately. I was restless and nervous and utterly exhausted, not quiet able to keep my head above the surface.

Flickering images danced before my eyes, murky memories of the past enveloping me and tormenting me. Memories of warm arms and a comfortable bed and light kisses on my shoulder as I stretched awake. I rolled over with a lazy smile on my face, then bolted upright when the eyes that met mine were not black, but vibrant green.

I could hear the words he had said to me echoing through my subconscious, his face blurry and unclear.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to happen," he had said to me when I had leapt out of the bed, startled.

I remembered the sharp ache in my chest when I realized why I had been there, with him instead of Jacob. I apologized to him over and over as I darted around, gathering up my clothes and yanking them onto my body.

It was like I was another person, watching myself move from a distance. He was staring at me, too, as I rushed around him.

After a couple minutes of watching me run around in a panic, he grabbed me gently to stop my flurry of motion. I could remember the feel of his hands on my wrists, so soft and earnest. I could remember when he pulled me in close the feel of his hot breath on my stomach. I wished I could feel it now.

"Bella," he whispered my name to keep me there.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

He smiled up at me, a blurry dream-smile that I could barely make out. "I'm not."

My eyes flickered open and I could see the dark ceiling of the cabin above me. I felt like I hadn't been sleeping at all.

I wasn't sure how much I was dreaming or how much of it was conscious memory. The past all seemed to be flooding back, returning to the place where we had gone so horribly wrong, as if thinking of it could somehow change it; change the outcome.

I heard whispers coming from the other side of the room and I noticed there was a dim light behind me. I strained my ears, not moving from my uncomfortable position as I tried to listen carefully.

"Just let me go out and talk to him." The voice sounded distinctly feminine, colored with worry and confusion.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." The other was a man. The whispers were rushed and nervous.

"He's been out there for over an hour."

"We don't know what happened. I'm not sure…"

"I won't invite him in, I'll just go see what he wants."

"No, I'll talk to him. You stay inside with Bella."

I finally recognized one of the voices as Alice's. The others had to be Jasper's.

I couldn't really understand what they were talking about. It was still very dark outside and I wondered vaguely why they were awake as I felt myself slip gently to the other side of consciousness, hovering so near to the surface everything was seamless and confusing.

I could feel the hurt in his face before I could see it. I listened to myself tell him that I didn't love him, that last night had been nothing more than comfort and validation. My words were burning and pain, even though they were practically whispered.

"I know." He was so calm. "It doesn't matter."

I pulled away from him, horrified. I was barely listening as he tried to explain that he loved me anyway, that he always would, that whatever I felt for him was enough. He told me that friendship could become more.

I could feel tears start to pick at my eyes, the wetness so real I knew I must actually be crying.

I tried to open my eyes again – tried to wake myself up – but I couldn't. Not before he said the exact words I was searching for, the words that made me want to stay asleep and remembering him.

_I'll never want anyone else._

Then I watched as I wrapped my arms around him, the smile on his face so bright that it blurred everything around us as I kissed him. He lifted me slightly and spun me back down on the bed where he was sitting, putting his arms on either side of me so that he was hovering over me with a smirk.

His hands dragged down my body, past my hips, down my legs until he was sitting at my feet and brushing his hands lightly against my toes, my soles, my arches, my heels. I flinched away, expecting it to tickle, and was surprised when it hurt.

He was staring at me and holding my ankle and his tender hands on my sore feet felt so real.

Then he was kissing his way back up my body, murmuring about how happy I made him, how beautiful I was, how he would keep me safe, how he would never hurt me.

Finally, his lips were touching mine over and over, his hips pressed firm against me, pinning me to the mattress. I squirmed beneath him in ache and anticipation and he drew away slightly with a smile.

He sighed, his voice sounding so sad, "I can't fucking do this anymore."

Wait.

That wasn't right.

That wasn't what he had said to me that morning. He had told me he loved me again and I let him touch me. He hadn't pulled, he hadn't sounded sad, he hadn't changed his mind.

There was still the murmur of people talking, it was still a man and a woman. But the man's voice had changed. I recognized the man's voice, different than it was before. It was Edward's voice talking to Alice now.

I wasn't sure if it was real.

"What the hell is going on, Edward?"

There was a slight pause and a shuddered intake of breath. "I don't know."

He was crying.

Alice's voice was slightly harder when she replied, "Not good enough."

There was a long silence that followed. I could feel the tension in the air as Alice demanded the same answers out of Edward that she wouldn't force out of me.

At last, I heard Edward's voice again. "We're not who you think we are."

Alice laughed sarcastically, quietly. "So I gathered."

Edward's whisper continued as if he hadn't heard her. "We're just…" He paused, sounding as though he was at a loss.

"Broken?" Alice supplied, using my words.

"Yes," Edward breathed.

"That's what Bella kept saying when she got here," Alice told him. "Shivering cold, wet, feet bleeding, a few minutes away from hypothermia and she was _defending_ you."

Edward didn't respond.

I wanted to look at his face, but I knew it was too dark. And I was afraid to move, afraid to let them know I was awake.

I wasn't positive that I was.

"Edward," Alice whispered firmly when she realized he wasn't going to answer her. "What happened between you two?"

I could see him smiling above me, one of his hands reaching up to run his fingers through my hair. I shuddered in pleasure.

"I'm disgusting."

My eyes opened slightly at the force of his words and I could see two shadowy figures leaning over the table on the other side of the room. There was a small candle flickering between them, reminding me of those expensive, dimly lit restaurants in the city.

The yellow light of the flame made only their profiles visible, the rest of their bodies were dark, ethereal shapes.

Alice's face was filled with a confusion that mirrored my own. Edward's comments were so stilted, his answers were so fractured. I couldn't help thinking that – even though he was sitting calmly, whispering and sad – he was still screaming at the top of the stairs.

His face was buried in his hands.

"I don't want to fake it anymore. Pretend like we're not both fucking _dying_ from this…"

I heard Alice breathe his name with confusion and sympathy and I closed my eyes again, thinking that this couldn't be real. Thinking that this had to be a dream. Thinking that he couldn't be crying. Not now. Not in front of me.

"I never thought that this would happen." His voice was so quiet I could barely pick apart the words. "But I should have. I should have known the moment I married her."

Alice replied gently, "No one can see the future."

"Doesn't matter," he said firmly. "I only married her because…" He paused and I stopped breathing as I waited for him to finish. Finally he sighed, "Because she _let _me."

"What?" Alice's voice was confused.

"Tell me I wasn't disgusting," Edward demanded, his voice so pained, so desperate. "Tell me that I wasn't pathetic and manipulative and horrible."

"You loved her," Alice said like it meant something.

"I did," Edward agreed. "I loved her when I knew she would never love me back. Loved her enough to tie myself to her." He paused, then added, "_That's_ what disgusts me."

There was a moment of quiet.

Then Alice asked tentatively, "How could you possibly know for sure she didn't love you?"

I heard a quiet, bitter chuckle.

"Because she told me." His voice sounded muffled and I wondered if he had his head in his hands again. "She always reminded me."

Alice had no response.

I heard Edward's voice continue after a long time. "You know, even though I was so weak, even though I was self-conscious and boring and awkward, even though I was being used and was so perfectly happy to _let_ myself be used, I never _hated_ myself back then."

I could feel his arms around me and his kiss on my face and the love in his eyes as fuzzy darkness started to creep back into my consciousness.

I could feel myself slipping away.

"Not like I do now…"

All I heard after that was silence of dreamless sleep.

*

It felt like minutes later that light was burning into the backs of my eyes, my lids burning red as the rising sun shone through the window beside me.

My eyes blinked open in confusion as I recalled that the window facing East should be behind me, not next to me. My eyes were met with the arm of a fairly large, brown chair. I furrowed my brow in confusion and pushed myself up slowly, noting the stiffness of my limbs from being contorted all night to fit in the little space.

Remembering that I wasn't in the ranch house – I was in the cabin – I turned around with a sigh, preparing to get up.

I let out a little shriek and my whole body flinched back.

Edward's face was drawn and tired, his eyes bloodshot, his skin a little more pale and a little less smooth as he blinked at me from the other chair. He was looking at me calmly, no trace of the anger I had seen last night. He looked exhausted. No, more than exhausted…he looked _drained_.

My hands gripped at the arms of the chair, desperate to keep myself firmly planted in the seat despite my every instinct telling me to get away from him. Still, there was something in his eyes, in the way that he was looking at me, that kept me there.

He leaned forward with a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands nervously.

The gesture seemed familiar.

I could recall an image of him, barely visible through the darkness, holding his head with defeat. I couldn't remember if I had actually seen it or if it had been a dream.

"Bella," he said my voice quietly, timidly. "I came to…" He stopped, then started again, "I need to apologize for last night."

I said nothing.

He looked away from me, out the window to the snow-covered fields.

"I talked to Alice when I got over here," he remarked. For some reason I felt like I had known that already, but on the surface I was surprised. I glanced over to the staircase. Edward nodded. "They're upstairs. I asked if I could stay...just until you were awake."

I said nothing.

He was silent for a moment and then looked back over at me. There was no indication on his face of anything like remorse but, for some reason, I believed his words.

After a moment he stood and I thought he was going to walk away. He stopped right beside me and I saw his hand reach out and hesitate before he brushed his fingers lightly against my shoulder.

I started at the contact and my eyes snapped up to his.

I said nothing.

He was looking down at me intensely.

"Bella," he said my name firmly. Then, "I would have never forgiven myself."

Without waiting for a response, he walked across the room and out the front door.

I said nothing.


	18. The Morning

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone for all the recommendations. There were so many of you mentioned that I actually can't remember all of you. Everyone seems to be telling their friends and friends of friends and I can not be more grateful. If you've recommended this story or seen it somewhere, just shoot me a PM so I can thank you personally. I have trouble sifting through all the reviews (oh, don't I sound like such a big shot?) and I'd really like to just give everyone massive hugs. Stupid physically restricting internet machine...

I honestly still have trouble believing the love this angst-fest is receiving. Thank you to everyone for being incredibly mashochistic.

This chapter I wasn't expecting to have up until Saturday. It was brought to you a day early by Lady GaGa.

Yeah, you heard me.

* * *

**The Morning**

After Edward left, I immediately leapt up and began searching through the cabinets around the stove for some coffee. I could feel the confusion and surprise numbing my thoughts until my body seemed to be moving independently and quickly to avoid reflecting on anything he had said, any expression on his face, any gesture or brief contact, for too long.

There was an icy streak of chilled skin on my shoulder from where he had touched me, as if he had run an ice cube across my skin. His hand and the gesture had been warm, but my fear had turned it into a cold, phantom sensation.

I grabbed a bag of coffee out of the left cabinet and hurriedly located the grinder and the pot. After I had dumped the fresh grounds into the filter and poured in ample amounts of water, I threw myself onto the nearest chair at the table with a sigh.

I leaned my head into my hands, my palms pressed tight against my temples, my fingers gripping at my hair. My eyes caught on a small candle situated in the middle of the table, a small yellow glass surrounding wax.

A strange feeling of deja vu washed over me at the sight of it. I reached out hesitantly, my finger running along the top of the glass and then down to touch the blackened wick.

"Bella?"

My eyes snapped up and I pulled my hand back quickly as Alice descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, looking at me curiously. I saw her glance at the coffee pot for a moment, then back to me.

"I…I made coffee," I said weakly. Then, realizing why she might be awake, I exclaimed, "Oh shit! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry! I just ground the beans…I wasn't even thinking…"

Alice smiled at me kindly. "I was already awake. It's really no problem."

I sighed a little, but I didn't feel much better. Already I was feeling awkward, like an intruder. The only thing that kept me from sprinting out the door was that I was more afraid of Edward than I was of appearing rude.

At my silence, Alice slid into the seat across from me and leaned her elbows on the table. "Hey, how are you?" she inquired.

"I'm alright," I assured her, my brow furrowing slightly. "I'm so,_ so_ sorry about last night."

Alice waved away my apology and ran her fingers through a mess of shaggy, spiky black hair. "Don't be silly." Then she nodded towards the front door. "Did you talk to Edward this morning?"

I hesitated, then replied, "Briefly."

Alice pursed her lips and I could see a flash of what looked like annoyance in her eyes. But it was gone and I was sure I had imagined it, because she was looking at me neutrally once more. "What did he say?" she asked.

I shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. "He apologized…sort of."

"_Sort of_?" Alice demanded. I was sure now that I hadn't imagined her irritation. I could see her face flush slightly, red in her cheeks and sparks in her eyes.

"Well," I said slowly, "he never _actually_ said the words."

Alice's eyes narrowed and she hissed quietly. Her gaze dropped down to the candle between us that I had been looking at earlier. She stared at it as if it were responsible for everything, her mouth curving down into a scowl.

"I get it though," I said quickly, nervously trying to diffuse her anger. "It's fine. You're just going to have to trust me on this one, Alice…It's complicated."

Alice rolled her eyes. "I've never heard that before." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, studying me carefully. Something in the desperation of my face seemed to soften her, because when she continued her voice was soft. "But, to be fair, I get the feeling it actually _may_ be complicated in your case."

I smirked, relieved. "You can't imagine."

Alice uncrossed her arms and leaned forward across the table, towards me. She asked quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

My eyes widened and I could feel the fear building in my chest. Fear of coming clean, of granting someone access of the misery I had been living in, of exposing how weak, how helpless, how useless I really was. Fear of letting someone in, of telling someone the truth about me, about my life, about the choices I had made. Fear of how badly I really, really wanted to.

"I…" I struggled, unsure of what I could say, of how far I could go.

Alice was looking at me intently, with nothing but compassion and sympathy in her eyes. She wanted to know, she wanted to help, she wanted to _care_. But I couldn't do it; couldn't tell her. I couldn't fucking _let_ her care.

And I couldn't face the rejection, the disgust, the judgment that would come with complete understanding.

I wasn't ready to give her up.

"It's fine," Alice said shortly, easily, breaking me out of my thoughts and releasing all the tension. "Maybe some other time." Then she added with a smile, "I'm not going anywhere."

I wanted so badly to believe her.

"Thank you, Alice," I whispered.

Alice nodded and stood up, walking over to the now-full coffee pot and pouring two mugs of the steaming hot liquid. She brought them over to the table and we sipped at them in relative quiet.

"Where's Jasper?" I finally asked.

An amused smile crawled across Alice's face. "Oh, he's still asleep. The man wakes for nothing." She chuckled and added affectionately, "Petty little things like coffee grinders or appropriate hours of the morning have no affect on him. He'll sleep well into the afternoon if I let him."

"He doesn't work today?" I cocked my head curiously.

"Nah," Alice waved her hand. "He's taking a long weekend. One of the perks of being your own boss."

I smiled and nodded, noticing wistfully how Alice would light up whenever she was talking about her husband, knowing that I had never looked like that.

Alice finished her coffee in one large swallow and then stood up, tossing her mug into the sink.

"Hey," she whipped around to look at me brightly. "It's a pretty nice day outside. Want to come help me turn the horses out?"

I felt my mouth drop open and I looked up at her dubiously, unsure of how to respond.

"Come on," she encouraged. "It'll be fun."

She walked over to the coat rack near the door and grabbed two large, dirty jackets that were heavily padded and _very_ unattractive. She tossed the larger one to me and I caught it in my lap, still sitting at the table with wide eyes.

"Okay?" I agreed, my reply sounding more like a question.

Alice grinned and grabbed a pair of huge, muddy boots that I was sure belonged to Jasper. They were definitely large enough.

"Here, put these on." She brought them over to me and plopped them next to my chair. "They might be a little big, but they'll do the job."

"You want me to wear my pajamas outside?" I asked in disbelief, looking at the boots as if they were about to bite me.

Alice chuckled, "Sure, why not?"

I watched as she pulled her boots over her large, thick socks. Her legs were bare up to her thighs, where I could see a pair of boxers peeking out from under an overly large shirt. She pulled the other bulky jacket on without hesitating, then turned to me expectantly.

I quickly jammed the boots on over the flannel pajamas I was wearing. They came all the way up my shins, hitting just below the knee. I shrugged the jacket on, which covered most of my upper body and nearly brushed the tops of the boots. I felt like a little kid dressing up in her father's clothing.

Alice beamed at me and opened the front door, motioning me outside ahead of her.

I walked out onto the little porch as Alice closed the door with a click behind us. The air was a little chilly, but the sun was warm and bright, sparkling off the new snow. I could see the deep, leaping divots where I had staggered through their icy yard in the night and felt my cheeks burn a little with embarrassment.

Luckily, Alice didn't notice. She simply walked ahead of me with a little "come on" and tromped down the stairs in her big boots, straight into the snow without pause. I followed after her quickly, hobbling slightly as the sore ice burns on the bottom of my feet rubbed against my socks inside the boots uncomfortably.

We walked around the house to the back where I hesitated a little in surprise. The barn in the back was almost the same size as the cabin itself. The back of it was flush against the house, and stretched its entire width. There were six stalls lined up, side by side, facing out; their doors sealed shut. Above them were a couple windows in what I assumed was the hay loft.

Alice walked over to the side of the barn and opened the door to a little side room. She reached her hand in and grabbed a couple coils of rope off a hook, tossing one to me with a smirk.

Then she moved around and opened up the tops of each of the doors. As she opened each stall, immediately a furry little head would poke out and two furry little ears would prick forward. The horses glanced around, their eyes travelling over me without paying much attention.

"Come on, Bella," Alice called over to me when all the stalls were open. "You can grab Roz."

"Excuse me?" I asked, surprised.

Alice laughed and motioned me over. I walked over to her slowly, feeling myself tense up slightly as I realized how _big_ those furry little heads actually were.

When I was close enough, she grabbed my hand and dragged me over to a large, dark brown head before placing my hand in front of its nose. I felt the steaming hot breath of the horse as it sniffed at me, its nose brushing lightly against my skin. It was incredibly soft.

"Bella, this is Roswell. Roswell, Bella," Alice said politely, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to introduce a person to an animal.

Then she released me and I immediately dropped my hand. She walked over to the stall door next to me where a noticeably smaller, grey horse nickered at her softly.

She stroked the animal's head lightly, a surprisingly gentle expression on her face.

"This is Jesse," Alice said, turning to me and motioning to the grey horse. "She's mine."

"Aren't they all yours?" I asked, slightly confused.

Alice simply laughed and shook her head as if I had said something foolish. I felt myself flush, not really understanding why it wasn't a valid question.

"Here," Alice said, sliding the rope up around Jesse's head. "We'll just turn them out now and feed them in the field. They didn't go out yesterday so I'm sure they're dying for a little room to stretch out."

I watched, fascinated, as Alice slipped the knotted rope around the horse's nose, behind its ears, and knotted it up on its cheek.

I looked down at the jumbled, knotted mess of rope in my hands and back at the brown horse that I was supposed to be handling.

I swallowed weakly.

"It's fine," Alice said from beside me, seeing the terrified expression on my face.

I reached my hands out with the rope and the horse snorted at me, watching curiously. I immediately drew back, frightened.

"What if it…attacks me or something?" I asked nervously.

Alice giggled and I turned to glare at her. She shrugged and replied, "And why would he do that?"

"I don't know," I exclaimed, waving my arms slightly in exasperation. The horse watched my movement, blinking at me silently. "I don't think it likes me. It's looking at me funny."

"Alright, first of all," Alice said, putting her hands on her hips in mock-indignation."_It_ is a _he_ and _he_ has a name. Second of all…" she paused, trying to think of a 'second-of-all'. At last she said firmly, "he likes you just fine."

"How do you know?" I demanded, not believing her.

"Well," she said, releasing her own rope and coming over to me. "Believe it or not, horses aren't really out to get you." She took the halter from my hands and quickly slid it over his nose and up around his head with practiced ease. Then she turned to me and handed me the long lead rope. "And this _particular_ horse happens to be a complete gentleman."

I smiled slightly at the description of a horse as a gentleman, but then Alice was opening the bottom of the stall door.

"Alice…" I said, panicked. I moved back a few steps.

Alice rolled her eyes and opened her own door. The grey horse immediately stepped out behind Alice, dwarfing her completely. I looked back at my own brown horse, noticing how much bigger her was now that I could see his whole body. He was waiting patiently inside his stall, even though the door was open. He seemed to be waiting politely for some cue from me.

"Just follow me," Alice called over her shoulder as she walked away, towards the field. Then she added, "_He'll_ follow _you_."

I hesitated, "What if – "

Alice cut me off, "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

I looked back at the brown horse who was still remaining perfectly still. It _was_ pretty gentlemanly of him.

My face set with determination, I turned around and walked after Alice, expecting to meet some resistance on the other end of the rope. When I had walked several steps and felt none, I glanced over my shoulder. Shocked, I came to a halt as I saw that the horse –_ Roswell_ – had followed along those few steps after me. When I stopped, he stopped, looking at me curiously.

With a wide grin, I turned back around and followed Alice the rest of the way to the field.

After Alice showed me how to slide the halter off, she went back and grabbed the rest of the horses quickly, leading all four behind her at once.

I watched with rapt attention as she released one after the other into the field. When all six were loose in the snow, they took off in a swirling cloud of shimmery ice, running in leaps and bounds, herded together and playful. Alice told me to stay and watch and enjoy myself as she grabbed a large bale of hay from the loft of the barn and dragged it over, spreading it along the fence line.

It was a long time before the horses seemed interested in eating.

When they finally settled into their breakfast, Alice suggested we go inside because she was getting cold, assuring me we would be back out in a couple hours to feed them again.

"See?" Alice smirked as we trudged to the thick snow back to the cabin. "Not so bad was it?"

I had to force the smile off my face in order to shrug, "I _guess_ not."

Alice laughed and nudged my shoulder with hers.

Then her face turned slightly serious, but her voice was still light as she explained, "Just think of it like this: horses are naturally prey animals." Then she shrugged, "So – unlike us – when they get scared, their 'flight' instinct will always kick in before 'fight'. As long as you don't corner them, they're perfectly safe."

I digested her words thoughtfully, realizing that what she was saying made a certain amount of sense.

"They're just so…" I shrugged apologetically, "…_big_."

Alice laughed loudly as we climbed the porch steps. "Yeah, but they're also _adorable_, right?"

"They're a little adorable, yes," I agreed grudgingly, unable to hold back a smile this time.

When we reached the front door, Alice kicked her boots off and placed them against the wall.

"Here," she said, motioning to my feet, "just take your boots off outside. We don't want to track snow all over the house." She was still chuckling as she explained, "Jasper always gets pissy if he wakes up and steps in my little snow puddles on his way to the coffee."

I laughed lightly and pulled my boots off, placing them next to Alice's.

I stepped in through the front door after her in socks and slightly wet flannel, struggling to pull of the large coat and becoming tangled in the long sleeves. As I was fighting with it, grumbling, I bumped into Alice's back. She had stopped moving in front of me and I looked up to see what had made her pause.

My mouth dropped open in shock as I saw Jasper sitting at the kitchen table, and across from him a haggard-looking Edward.

When they saw us, Edward sprang to his feet as if he had received an electric shock. Jasper remained seated, calmly glancing to his wife, then to me, then back to Edward.

Alice seemed to recover the quickest because she moved forward, taking off her jacket quietly and hanging it up.

"Hi, Edward," she said casually in greeting.

"Hello, Alice," he replied meekly, his voice quiet.

Then he turned to me, his eyes fixing on my arms that were contorted behind me, tangled in the jacket, before travelling slowly up to my face that was flushed from the winter air and surprise.

He took a step forward and I quickly shrugged my way out of the coat, holding it in my arms against my chest as if it would somehow protect me from him. He didn't move any closer.

"Bella, may I talk to you for a minute?" he asked politely. I couldn't read his expression.

I looked to Alice, who had glanced at me with concern.

"Um…okay," I said with a shrug, feigning confidence as my mind hurried over all the things he could possibly want.

Alice touched my arm lightly and I met her eyes once more. She said quietly, "We'll be upstairs if you need us." Then she motioned to Jasper and he stood, nodding to me slightly before they ascended the stairs to the second floor together.

As soon as their footsteps silenced, I turned back to look at Edward. He was watching me carefully, his eyes fixed on me as if I was getting ready to bolt. I imagined he was looking at me the same way I had looked at brown Roswell, standing in his stall. Swallowing my nervousness, I walked forward to the table and slid into the seat that Jasper had just vacated.

Edward lifted his eyebrows in either surprise or relief and when I sat down, he lowered himself to sit across from me.

"You're back," I stated calmly, without ceremony; posing the question.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Why aren't you at work?"

"I just…" he paused for a moment as if he was trying to decide what to say, before he settled on, "I just wanted to come check on your feet."

I blinked at him dumbly.

"My _feet_?" I asked, confused.

I followed his gaze, which had fixed pointedly on my heavy woolen socks. It suddenly clicked what he was talking about and I realized that I had completely forgotten about my injured feet when I was walking around outside with Alice and the horses.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, understanding. Then I hesitated, "I…um, look, they're okay. They're just a little sore." I shrugged nonchalantly. "Kind of like a really bad rug burn?"

Edward nodded, tight-lipped.

Then he asked quietly, "Would you mind if I just took a look?" He paused before adding, "It would make me feel better."

I coughed a laugh and replied without thinking, "I'm not really interested in making _you_ feel better."

Edward's eyes widened and then he was looking down again, away from me. I could see the color drain from his face completely.

"I'm sorry," I backtracked quickly, automatically. "That wasn't…"

"No," he cut me off, his eyes snapping up to meet mine grimly. "I deserved it. I understand."

I nodded silently, folding my arms across my chest.

After a long silence, Edward finally asked quietly, "Will you tell me?"

I cocked my head at him, confused.

"If they're bothering you?" he elaborated. "Will you tell me? Please?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, searching his expression for some sign of what he was thinking. I didn't really see concern or remorse, but it was apparent in every word he said. His tone dripped with it. But in his face he seemed perfectly controlled.

After looking at him for a long time I finally sighed, "Yeah, alright."

Some of the tension left his body at my concession, but not much.

Quiet descended on us once more and I felt my eyes roaming over him curiously, taking in his appearance with a small amount of regret. He looked just as tired, just as drained as he had this morning when I had spoken to him. He had changed his clothes and had buried them under a large winter jacket. His hair was in complete disarray, his entire body bent in on itself slightly, slumped and exhausted. The fight or the stress of the aftermath had certainly affected him, much more than it had affected me.

There was something else in his body, in his expression, that I had trouble pinpointing at first. After a few minutes I finally identified it as resignation.

I had no idea what that meant.

"Bella, I'm sorry." His statement was quiet and abrupt, his eyes suddenly burning as he looked at me.

I opened and closed my mouth several times before I finally accepted, "Okay."

Edward nodded, as if my surprised reply was more than sufficient. We stared at each other for another full minute before Edward seemed to shake himself awake, tearing his eyes from mine as he reached under his chair and slide a small duffel across the floor to me.

"Listen, I came by to drop off some things you might need," he explained, motioning to the bag. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. He placed it on the table and pushed it towards me slowly. "And to give you this."

I reached out curiously and picked up the paper. I unfolded it carefully and flattened it against the wood, my eyes coming to rest on two phone numbers, scrawled in his rushed handwriting.

"What is this?" I asked him, looking up with confusion.

"That's the number to the house," he explained pointing to the top number. "I had the phone connected. The other one is my cell. Just in case you…" he paused and looked away slightly as she shrugged, "Just in case you need anything."

I stared at him, unsure of what to say.

"Oh," I breathed.

Edward waited for only a moment before cutting in nervously, motioning back to the duffel he'd place at my feet. "And I brought you…"

He paused, stopping himself, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. When he looked back at me I could see the complete and utter helplessness in his face.

"Look," he said, spreading his arms in surrender. "I'm not really sure how to do this."

I snorted and shook my head.

"How to do what?" I teased humorlessly. "Pass off your emotionally damaged wife to family friends?"

For a moment Edward looked horrified as he quickly tried to explain. "I'm not passing you…" he stuttered. "You can come back…"

"I know," I cut him off calmly. Then I looked at him with what I hoped was an imploring expression as I continued, "I think I just need to trespass on Alice's hospitality for a while."

Edward swallowed.

"Of course," he nodded, at last.

With that, he pushed himself up out of the seat and slowly made his way towards the door, as if he was reluctant to leave. I didn't turn around to watch him, I simply listened to his steps grow farther and farther away.

Then they stopped and I turned at the same time I heard him say my name.

"Bella?" His voice was soft.

I twisted in my seat to look at him. "Yeah?"

He paused for a moment.

Then, "Are you okay?"

The sincerity of the question made my breath hitch slightly. It had been so long since he had asked me that, since he had asked me and I believed that he really cared what my answer would be. But I found that as much as I wanted to tell him that I was, as much as I wanted to tell him that I wasn't, the question was no longer about me. It wasn't about the girl who had cut up her feet, the girl who had run outside into the night, the girl who had felt alone, the girl who had been afraid.

It was about the girl who had watched a man scream at her from the top of the stairs.

It was about the girl who had seen a man break in front of her.

It was about the girl who had broken him.

"Are _you_?" I asked in return, watching him closely.

I saw a sad smile crawl across his face that mirrored my own. He nodded in understanding and walked out the door, closing it lightly behind him.

Neither of us had answered the question and neither of us needed to.

We both already knew the answer.


	19. The Week

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the delay in updates, guys. I was away for the weekend. There also might be a couple days before the next update because I'm writing an EPOV for people who donated to the Haiti charities, which should be up sometime tomorrow.

This chapter is a little slow, but maybe a slight (needed?) relief from the tension and the angst. Little bit of horses, little bit of Esme, lotta bit of Alice. This chapter's also pretty light on the self-loathing and dwelling. I know, it's like an upside down world. Rest assured, you'll be feeling the EPOV one-shot if I have anything to say about it, so enjoy this while you can.

* * *

**The Week**

"Are you sure you're going to be comfortable up here?"

I turned around to see Alice standing in the doorway of the loft, her arms folded over her chest as I unpacked the little duffel Edward had brought over in the morning.

I was sitting on the floor next the little bed in the hay loft of the barn. The space was divided in half, with a door leading from the makeshift bedroom to the hay and the ladder to climb down. I felt like I was in a giant bunk bed with six horses sleeping on the bottom bunk.

Alice and Jasper had built the barn first and had stayed in the loft while they built their cabin. When Alice had told me the story, I had laughed at how backwards it all seemed, to build a house as an attachment to a barn.

"It's great," I assured her with a smile.

She sighed and walked across the floor, plopping down on the bed behind me.

"Well, it's warm and there's a bathroom and you'll have your privacy so…" Alice responded half-heartedly, gesturing around the little room tucked away on the second floor of the barn. The smell of hay permeated everything. I found it oddly comforting.

I cut her off gratefully, "I can't thank you enough, Alice."

Alice looked like she was going to brush away my thanks but stopped herself. Instead she placed her hand warmly on my shoulder.

"You're welcome." She nodded firmly, accepting my thanks gracefully.

I smiled a little wider and turned back to the clothes I had spread out before me on the floor. I sat, cross-legged, examining what Edward had brought: a few pairs of jeans, a handful of shirts, my large overcoat, shoes that would be useless outside, underwear, and my toothbrush. I wanted so badly to be annoyed that he had gone into my room and rooted through my things, but when I looked at all my things spread before me all I could feel was a strange warmth in my chest

"Do you need anything else?" Alice asked, watching me peruse my essentials.

"I don't think so."

*

Monday found me in jeans and my large jacket, tossing bales of hay down from the loft and tromping down the ladder in Jasper's boots. Alice waited for me at the bottom, barking orders good-naturedly and laughing at my sour expression.

"Horses need breakfast, Bella," she chuckled when I reached the ground and turned around to face her, folding my arms across my chest.

"People need sleep, Alice," I retorted.

Alice reached out and clapped me on the back, nudging me forward. "Come on. You're living here, you're working here."

I wanted to cry with relief.

Alice was kind, she was friendly, and she was telling me exactly what was expected of me. She wouldn't grow resentful of my presence because she had set the terms. She wouldn't allow me to be useless because she was willing to teach me. I wasn't used to people expecting me to do things, looking to me for help. The fact that Alice did after two days was something that I found to be slightly bizarre and completely refreshing.

I lifted the hay bale without another word and carried it out to the field behind Alice as she twirled and danced in the snow ahead of me.

When I was done spreading the hay evenly along the fence line, Alice grabbed my arm lightly and steered me back towards the barn. She pulled a wheelbarrow out from under the porch and grabbed a pitchfork that was propped up against the wall.

"Now," she said, handing me the pitchfork. "Let's teach you how to muck stalls."

I stopped walking mid-step and looked at Alice in disbelief.

"Muck stalls?" I asked, eyes wide. "As in…clean them?"

Alice laughed at my expression and tugged at my arm again. "Don't be such a snob, Bella," she teased.

"I'm not trying to…" I spluttered, not wanting to give her the wrong impression. "I don't think I'll be any good at it. I can barely straighten up my own room."

"Well, lucky for you, horses' rooms are a lot simpler." Alice smiled.

I watched as she walked along the stalls, opening each door wide and propping them open. She motioned me over to the first stall and I pushed the wheelbarrow through the semi-worn path in the snow.

Alice took the pitchfork from me and explained how to clean the stall, demonstrating with quick, practiced ease. She made it look so effortless, separating clean from dirty, wet from dry. When she placed the fork in my hands, I walked into the stall confidently, ready to try.

The work was hard, difficult repetition that I wasn't used to. My arms would cramp up and get sore, I could feel blisters forming where I was holding the wood of the pitchfork, and it seemed to take me forever to pick through and clean everything out, sifting through the clean shavings as I went.

Still, there was something oddly satisfying about finishing each stall. It was the same feeling I got when I had seen Edward eat my meal for the first time. It was like something that I had done, something that I had accomplished, had made a difference.

I was here.

I mattered.

*

After we finished our chores on Tuesday, Alice decided that we were going to make an elaborate meal for dinner. The way she tossed things out of the cupboards onto the counter, gathering ingredients from all corners of the kitchen, made it look as though it was Thanksgiving morning.

"I've never cooked," I admitted, looking at the spread on the counter in front of me. "Not until I got up here and I had to."

Alice raised her eyebrows and passed me a peeler. "Really?"

She motioned to the potatoes and began mixing up a marinade. I looked at the vegetables for a moment before walking them over next to the trash and started peeling their skins back.

"Here," Alice grabbed a large pot and walked over to the sink. She filled it with cold water and then placed it beside me. "Put them in this when you're done peeling them."

Then she went back over to where she had begun mixing spices and oils in a small bowl without a recipe or any kind of direction.

I watched for a moment as she tossed in a pinch of this or that, pausing only to read the labels and look at them thoughtfully before pushing them aside or using them liberally.

She was so free.

"So, if you didn't cook, what did you guys eat?" Alice asked abruptly.

I shrugged, turning back to my potatoes. "We went out…or ordered in."

Alice smiled and seemed to be amused rather than surprised.

"I was kind of like that, back in the day," she said, still smiling. I paused and looked at her curiously. She elaborated, "You know, opposed to the grossly domestic. But…it sort of grew on me."

I looked at Alice curiously.

I had known so many people on opposite ends of the spectrum. Those that were disgusted by my lack of knowledge, that felt it was my job to take care of the home, to cook and clean and take joy in doing it. And then there were those that felt it would be a disgrace if I did, that feminism might as well not have even happened if I submitted to a man, let him rule me, forced myself to fit into the stereotype.

I was pretty sure I had never met _anyone_ like Alice.

She straddled the line so effortlessly, telling me without saying the words that either way was right, that being unable to cook wasn't embarrassing and learning to cook wasn't submissive.

I would give anything to see the world, to see _everything_, through her eyes.

To her, people were meant to do whatever made them happy.

And as I looked at her – struggled to figure out what made her so unique, tried to define why I liked her so much, reflected on how uncompromisingly _good_ she was – I understood something about her.

"You like taking care of people," I stated, not bothering to phrase it as a question. "It makes you happy."

"Sure." Alice shrugged easily, though I could tell she was confused as to where my comment was coming from.

"You're taking care of _me_," I explained, my voice dropping to a whisper as I felt the beginnings of shame creeping up.

Alice's eyes snapped up to meet mine.

"I'm just helping you out a little," she said firmly, smiling and shaking her head. Then she motioned to the potatoes that I was nearly done with. "You're taking care of yourself."

I looked down at the peeler, at the coil of skin still attached to it. I reached out and plucked it away, tossing it into the trashcan below me.

"No," I said quietly. Then I met Alice's eyes again. "But I want to learn to."

*

I sat in my chair, fidgeting and running my fingers over the rim of the coffee mug. I tugged on my shirt, the ends of my hair, and looked everywhere but directly across from me to the kind eyes on the other side of the table.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it out, dear," Esme said softly, with a smile. She sipped at her own coffee as she motioned to the city around her.

On Wednesday, Alice had woken me excitedly and suggested that I come to the city with her to visit with Esme when she went in to work. As we drove into Colorado Springs, bouncing and fast in her yellow Jeep, Alice told me that a couple times a week she volunteered at the city's free clinic.

Riding into town beside her, I thought I would be uncomfortable. I used to roll my eyes as people like Alice. The thing was, more and more I was coming to realize that there _weren't_ people like Alice. They simply didn't exist.

The way she helped, the way she spoke to me and took care of her horses and explained the work she did at the clinic…there was nothing pretentious or elitist about it. She didn't do anything because she felt she should, didn't do anything so she would look good or kind in the eyes of others. There was no judgment for people who weren't as charitable. She didn't see herself as being kinder or better or morally superior to anyone else.

Everything she did, she did because she loved to do it. And it was impossible for me to imagine loving even _one_ thing the way that she loved everything.

"Well," I said, still not touching my coffee. "Alice had to go in to work, so she offered to give me a ride."

Esme nodded and replied, "I'm so happy you're becoming friends with her. She's a wonderful young woman."

"The best," I agreed quietly.

"And are you staying with her?" Esme asked, her voice careful, light, and sounding only casually interested.

My eyes widened and I felt my insides twist up with fear and shock.

Esme was looking at me curiously, no hint of accusation or anger on her face. She didn't look surprised or betrayed or offended.

"H-how did you…?" I spluttered at last.

"Edward's been by the house a couple times in the past few days," Esme explained with a little shrug. Then she looked up at me earnestly, her eyes holding mine. "He mentioned you two had a fight."

"He told you that?" I whispered, shocked.

After all the secrecy, after all the careful lies and the deceit and the guilt, he had told her.

Esme nodded, looking down at her mug, cupping her hands around it gently before glancing back up at me. "Are you alright?" Her question was very quiet.

"I'm fine," I said reflexively, surprised to find that it didn't feel like I was lying.

Esme smiled a little and nodded, seeming to be relieved.

An awkward silence descended and I took a sip of my coffee at last. It was lukewarm and strong, the bitter leaving an aftertaste on my tongue.

Esme never looked away from me once.

After several minutes, she continued, "Listen, I understand that I don't know everything about your relationship with my son, that I've only met you a handful of times. It's been years since we've seen each other last and I don't want to presume that I know you…" She trailed off and for the first time I could see a flash on insecurity in her eyes.

"I want you to," I said quietly, without thinking.

Esme's brow furrow slightly with confusion. "Want me to what?"

I paused, knowing I wouldn't be able to take it back now and fairly certain I didn't want to. The way she looked at me, the way she was looking at me now, forced me to answer her.

"I want you to know me," I stated plainly with a shrug.

A beautiful smile spread slowly across her face, her eyes softening and maternal. I was sure my own mother had never looked at me in such a way.

"I'd love to try," Esme told me.

I tore my eyes away from hers, fixing them on the wood of the table in front of me.

"I wish you wouldn't," I answered.

Esme was silent and I couldn't bring myself to look back at her. Couldn't see the sympathy or the confusion or the affection there, knowing that I didn't deserve it, knowing that I couldn't give her the answers she wanted because I was selfish. Like Alice, I didn't want her to stop looking at me like I was someone worth knowing.

And she would. I knew she would.

I felt my eyes prick with unwanted tears and I fought them back, swallowing them and keeping my head down.

Suddenly, Esme's hand was wrapped around mine and she was squeezing it.

I didn't look up.

*

"He hates me," I growled, feeling frustration and hopelessness creeping up to the surface. "He just…doesn't want anything to do with me."

Alice huffed by my side, "Don't be ridiculous."

We glared at each other for a moment before I turned back to stare at the red horse in front of me.

It was Thursday, and after nearly a week of chores – of mucking stalls and spreading hay and turning in and turning out – I had become nearly decent at handling all the horses.

Roswell, the first horse I had ever touched, remained ever polite and easy. Alice had taught me how to handle her little grey Jesse, who was more lively but who – like Alice – was kind and willing. Jasper's caramel and white paint, Dash, was just as quiet and easy-going as he was. The large black Dollar had been Carlisle's favorite and the golden-coated Zoë was sweet and good-natured.

I was comfortable leading all of them, feeding them, walking next to them, stroking the soft, thick fur of their winter coats. I would listen to them munch on hay in their stalls at night as I lied awake, trying to sleep.

I was beginning to think that they recognized me, too. Their ears would prick up when they saw me, if they were hungry they would nicker at me happily, knowing that I would feed them. They all seemed comfortable around me.

All except Santana.

His coat was a shockingly vibrant red that always shone gold and copper in the sunlight. He had a bright blaze of white down the front of his face and all four of his legs were white up to his knees. He was several inches taller than the other horses, his legs were long and lean and when he ran they seemed to swallow up the ground in waves.

And he hated me.

He would kick at the stall whenever I came down the ladder to feed them, he would dance around me in circles when I would try to lead him to the fields. He would throw his head into the air, too high for me to reach, and snort and paw. He was all life and fire in his feet, wild and angry.

Alice put her hand on my shoulder encouragingly. "In order for him to hate you, he'd actually have to care enough to notice you." She smiled sheepishly, "Which he doesn't."

I scowled at Alice. He liked _her_.

"Gee, thanks," I said dryly, shutting his stall door as Santana munched on his hay passively, not really paying attention to either of us.

Alice linked her arm through mine as we made our way back towards the house. "Give him some time to come around."

I rolled my eyes as I pulled my boots off my feet, chucking them next to the front door and walking into the cabin, feeling dejected.

I sighed as I plopped down at the kitchen table, Alice following after me and collapsing at my side, smiling at me encouragingly. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at her.

We both looked up when we heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Jasper walked into the little kitchen towards us, holding a black bag that I recognized.

"What's that?" Alice asked as I felt my throat dry slightly.

Jasper was looking at me as he walked over and placed it on the table in front of me. Then he turned to his wife, placing his hand on her shoulder as he explained, "Edward came by this afternoon while you guys were outside. He dropped off more clothes for Bella, said he wasn't sure how long she was staying and if she had enough."

I could feel Alice's eyes burning into me as I stared at the bag, avoiding her gaze.

Her voice was quiet when she said, "Well, that was nice of him."

I looked up at last and forced a smile on my face. "Yeah, it was."

After talking to Alice and Jasper for a little longer, I excused myself, slinging the bag over my shoulder as I climbed the ladder to the loft. I sat on my bed when I opened it, pulling each article of clothing out slowly and placing it beside me.

All I could think about was Edward looking for clothes in my room; Edward coming over here; Edward going to work and eating alone and sleeping in that filthy, chaotic room.

All I could think about was Edward, thinking about me.

Once I had pulled all the clothes out, I glanced to the bottom of the bag to see a brand new pair of boots.

*

On Friday, Alice shook me awake a little later than she usually did. She was covered with hay and her hair was wild and windswept as she smiled down at me.

"You already took care of the horses?" I asked, surprised.

She smiled and nodded, "Well, I have a giant favor to ask and I kind of wanted to butter you up first."

"By letting me sleep?" I asked, glancing at the sun shining in through the windows and then down to my clock, reading the late time with surprise.

She nodded.

"Well, it worked. I love you," I smiled jokingly. "What do you need?"

"Well," Alice started hesitantly, twisting her hands in her lap and batting her lashes at me. "Jasper and I were thinking of going away for the weekend and I was wondering if you would feel comfortable taking care of the horses while we're gone."

My mouth dropped open.

"Alice…I don't know…" I stuttered, shocked. "I don't think I can…"

"You can," Alice said firmly.

"What about Santana?"

"What about him?" she demanded, not giving an inch to my insecurity.

I looked back at her, the pleading in her eyes and the firm confidence in my ability and I could feel a sudden surge within me, a desire to prove that I could do it, an eagerness to repay her kindness – just a little – with a favor.

"Of course I'll do it," I tried to say strongly, my voice wavering only slightly. Then I added with a smile, "I owe you so much already."

Alice took my comment in stride and I watched her entire face light up. Before I could react, she had thrown her arms around my neck and was squeezing me tightly.

"Thanks, Bella!"

I resisted the urge to stiffen against the contact and forced myself to relax in her embrace. Just as I lifted my own arms to put them around her back, she was pulling away, still grinning at me madly.

"So," I said, feeling my face heating slightly at her unexpected show of gratitude. "Where are you guys going?"

"We're going to Texas to visit Jasper's family," Alice replied, seemingly unaware of my discomfort. "We haven't been able to see them in such a long time. Carlisle used to watch the horses when we'd go away but when he got sick…"

Her voice trailed off and I saw that sad, faraway look creep across her face like it did every time she mentioned Edward's father.

"That sounds like it'll be really fun, Alice," I said quietly, trying to make my voice sound bright to draw her back.

Alice blinked at me for a moment, then smiled gratefully.

"It should be," she agreed.

We were quiet for another moment, and I struggled to think of something to say to her. It was so easy to talk to her, to brush hands, to hug her, to confide in her when we were outside. When we were busy and working, I couldn't get trapped in my own head.

As usual, it was Alice who spoke first.

"Do you have any family, Bella?" she asked me curiously.

"Well, I'm an only child so it's a pretty small one," I shrugged noncommittally. "But both my parents are still alive, yes."

Alice nodded thoughtfully and I could see the wheels in her mind turning. I had already braced myself when she finally asked, "Do they know what's going on with you and Edward?"

I chuckled humorlessly, "_I_ don't even know what's going on with me and Edward."

Alice shook her head, "That's not what I meant."

"I know," I sighed. Then, "I don't think they even know where I am."

Alice took in that information with a pointedly neutral expression, making me wish I knew what she was thinking.

After a few seconds she asked, "And where are _they_?"

"My dad still lives in Forks," I told her. I hesitated slightly before continuing, "As soon as I left for college, my mom left him."

"Do you know why?" Alice wanted to know.

"She told me a million times she was only staying because she felt like she had to. I was the one thing that held her back from doing what she wanted," I could feel my eyes begin to prick and I wiped at them, frustrated, not wanting to cry over the woman. "I suppose she thought she was doing us all this huge favor by sticking around."

"Where is she now?"

"She got remarried some baseball player who she'd been having an affair with for years," I said bitterly. "She's traveling around with him right now."

Alice looked at me with compassion and without pity. I didn't know how she managed it, but I could feel her there, listening and caring as I had always wanted someone to. If Edward ever had, I hadn't allowed myself to believe him.

"You don't talk to your father?"

I shook my head. "I guess I have nothing to say to him."

"You don't get along?"

"Actually, we get along great," I told her. "Or, we used to…when I was younger."

"What happened?"

"I…" I paused for a moment. "I don't know."

"And you can't go to him now?" Alice asked.

I was silent for a moment.

I hadn't thought about Charlie in a long time. I hadn't thought about seeing him, about visiting him. I _had_ gotten along with my father. I probably still would. But the thought of going home, of seeing him, of staying with him, of telling him about Edward and about what had happened…I could feel bile rising up in my throat.

Then, I finally managed to choke out, "No. No, I can't go to him."

For the first time since I had gotten here, I had told Alice a lie.

I _did_ know what had happened.

I _did _know why I couldn't go back to my father, why I couldn't see him, why – even though we got along, even though he loved me more than anyone else ever had – I couldn't make myself face him.

_You are Renee._


	20. The Invitation

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **This chapter is brought to you by **squarepancake** and the ol' reacharound. Thank you kindly. I'd just like to say thanks so much for the response to the EPOV. I hated it, you all loved it, so on average it was decent. Your kind words, though...they made me smile. A lot. As they usually do. I'd also like to extend a thank you to **ADifferentForest **and any other site/forum that I'm not aware of that's reccing and discussing this story. I'd really like to get in on some of those discussions but I'm a little retarded about finding sites and creating accounts and understanding extremely simple directions...things of that nature. So, if you're talking about me or this story behind my back, thank you! I love that!

* * *

**The Invitation**

It was the first clear day in almost a week. The wind was blowing hard and fierce, biting at my bare fingers wrapped around wood. I shivered against the chill, peering up into the cloudless sky as the last of the sun's light faded into the distance. The sky was painted with vibrant flames of color: purple, blue, and bright, shocking red. The sunset was loud against the peace of the landscape.

I sat, perched on the forest green fence, watching and listening and waiting and thinking that this was the first time I had truly been alone in…I couldn't remember in how long. From where I sat, I could see over the hill to ranch house, dark and empty. There was a single light that shone through one of the windows of what I assumed was the bathroom. I wondered if he was home. There were no other lights on.

I glanced down at my feet, intertwined with the wooden slats of the fence to help keep my balance, and smiled slightly at the snug, new boots that had kept my feet warm all weekend.

Alice and Jasper had been gone for the past two days and would be returning early tomorrow morning. They had called me twice on Saturday and twice again today to check in, to ask about the horses and to make sure I had everything I needed. It was a small connection, but I never felt lonely. They trusted me and they cared whether I was safe, but they weren't coddling me. They hadn't put off their trip to stay and suffocate me with kindness and worry. Instead, they had turned my presence into an opportunity. I couldn't believe how incredibly freeing it was.

Everything had gone smoothly and without any major incident. I fed the horses in the morning, at noon, in the evening. I cleaned their stalls, I tidied up the little barn, I made sure the loft was spotless and organized. After the horses were taken care of, I would go to the cabin and make myself something to eat, taking my meal in silence and contentment. There was no tension, no fear, and no fighting.

For the first time in my life, solitude seemed to suit me.

There was something missing, though. There was some lingering feeling I would get when I was making dinner, or walking outside, or when I went to sleep on Saturday night. Sitting on the fence, looking at the ranch house, I knew what it was.

_Edward_.

I didn't miss him. I wasn't worried about him. I didn't want to see him or talk to him or visit him or take care of him. It was nothing that I could define. I would think about him from time to time and…wonder. There were so many unanswered questions, so many things left unsaid still. Why he had brought me here, why he had ignored me, why he had fought with me, why he had thrown me out. What he wanted.

I could feel him, lingering just below the surface. Not a constant presence, but certainly a recurring one. I could feel my desire, my need to understand him wash over me in waves, waning and crashing forward again and again. In all our years together, even when I first met him, I had never felt this incredible curiosity, this interest.

I _cared_.

I cared who he was and who he had become and what I had done to him and what had brought him here. I cared why he had thrown me out of the house and why he had invited me back. I cared about _him_. But I couldn't understand him.

I heard a low snort and then there was hot breath washing over my frozen hand suddenly. I blinked, forcing myself out of my thoughts with a shake of my head. The light had almost faded completely, but I could still see the large shape in front of me, the last of the sun's rays bouncing off a deep, red coat.

"Hey, Santana," I said, keeping my voice low and gentle, trying not to sound nervous.

The rest of the horses were inside, munching happily on the hay in their stalls. I usually brought Santana in last because he was the most difficult. Tonight, though, I had decided to sit out with him for awhile before we headed back to the barn. He had been roaming the field alone for almost an hour, brushing by me from time to time as I waited on the fence for the sun to finally set.

I could feel my heart rate pick up slightly as I looked around on the ground behind me for his halter, knowing that I would have to bring him in soon.

I could remember Alice's words of comfort before she left, trying to ease my fears: "Santana's a good horse. He's not wild, he's not unbroken, he's not looking to kill you or break out or make your life difficult. He's just a little more…_complex_ than the others. And you don't know enough about him yet to understand how he works."

I had never been less comforted in my life.

The past few days had been manageable. He would still walk in circles around me whenever I tried to lead him anywhere. He would rear up and lash out when he was impatient with my fumbling. And when I would take his halter off in the field he would tear away from me, damn near taking my arm with him.

Still, I was beginning to see what Alice meant.

When he would tear away from me, he would stop after a few strides, like he was just trying to make a point. When he would rear and kick, there was never any mean in his eyes. His ears would prick forward like he wanted to play, his dangerous hooves never even close to connecting with anything except air. And when he walked in circles, it was because I was walking too slow, because his stride was so much longer than mine. And I would hurry to catch up. I didn't know how to ask him to slow down.

I reached my hand out to stroke his nose lightly. He pulled his head back. Not violently, not with any repulsion, but with a simple, quiet shift away from the contact. Alice had told me he had never really allowed people to touch his face, that he had been abused by his previous owner and she had only ever touched his nose when he pressed it into her hand himself.

With a sad smile, I sighed and hopped down from the fence. He stood still, watching me as I bent down and lifted the rope halter off the ground. It took me a minute to untangle the mess, the snow stuck to the rope burning my hands as I separated the lead from the rest of the halter. When I finally had it straightened out, I looked back up to Santana.

The light was completely gone now, and he was simply a looming shape in the dark. I reached my hand out and placed it on the warm fur of his neck. He cocked his head slightly to watch me as I slid my hand up his neck, through his mane, and over to the other side, passing myself the halter. I eased it around his nose gently, smiling when he kept his head low enough for me to reach. My own head didn't even reach the top of his back, and when he lifted his neck he was nearly impossible to catch.

He was always more agreeable at dinnertime.

I tied the halter knot against his cheek and stoked one more long line down his entire neck with my bare hand. He tossed his head slightly and stared at me, his brown eye appearing black in the dark.

"Ready to go in?" I asked him stupidly.

Without waiting, trying to walk with confidence, I opened the gate to the field and led him out after me. As we picked our way up to the barn through the snow the harsh wind continued to whip at my jacket, snarling my hair and making my cheeks and nose go numb. I shivered and walked a little faster.

Santana was a hulking presence at my side, his head ducked slightly against the wind, moving at a pace that I couldn't keep up with. Every one of his strides was longer than the last and before I knew it he was practically dragging me up the barn. I followed him, giggling helplessly as he marched up to his stall door and stood in front of it pointedly. He swung his big head around to look at me, clearly wanting to get in away from the wind.

I smiled and patted his neck one more time before I opened the latch on his door and threw it open. He didn't hesitate before stepping into the clean shavings and diving for the pile of hay in the corner. I followed him in, closing the door behind me. I slipped his halter off and fumbled in the dark as I hung it on its hook.

"Should have remembered to turn on the barn light before it got dark, huh?" I asked rhetorically as I walked passed Jesse's stall. She nickered softly, as if she agreed with me.

I reached the opposite wall of the little barn and flicked the switch on.

Nothing happened.

Cursing, I wiggled the switch up and down, as if it would help somehow. I had no idea where Alice and Jasper would keep the spare light bulbs, but I could only imagine it would be in the cabin. Anyway, I wouldn't be able to replace it until morning. Me, the clumsiest person I had ever met, clambering up a free-standing ladder on a windy night in pitch black and trying to screw in a light bulb? It couldn't end well.

I laughed a little at the thought as I felt along the back wall until my hands hit the first few rungs of the wood ladder that led up to the loft. I crawled into the hay room, which was equally dark and much louder, the wind howling and raging against the little roof. I opened the door to my room and pulled the cord on the overhead light.

Nothing happened.

"_Fuck_," I spat under my breath. Even in the dark I could see the heat of the word rising up in smoky tendrils from my mouth. It was freezing.

The power was out.

I listened to the wind raging outside, imagining that it must have knocked something loose or short-circuited something as it swirled around furiously. I shivered slightly in my jacket, knowing that I would never be able to sleep in the barn tonight if I wanted to avoid freezing to death.

I quickly made my way back down the ladder and ran outside, around the barn to the front of the cabin. I walked up the porch steps and pushed the front door open without hesitation. It wasn't much warmer inside. I could feel the temperature dropping slightly every minute the sun had been gone, the wind seeming much more violent in the dark.

I tried all the lights in the cabin before collapsing onto Jasper and Alice's bed with a huff of frustration. I had no idea what to do.

I could start a fire, sleep next to the fireplace in one of those armchairs as I had the first night I had spent here. I knew it would keep me warm. But I wasn't even sure I could _start_ a fire. Looking for matches or lighters in a dark, unfamiliar place would take a while. Images flashed through my head of the entire cabin burning down, of my blanket catching fire while I slept and burning up my body, Alice and Jasper returning home to a smoldering pile of ashes.

I could feel the slight stirrings of panic begin at the prospect of being alone. I was going to freeze and die and I was going to be all alone when it happened. I had to call Alice and tell her what had happened, ask her if there were breakers or…something. I had no idea what any of it meant, no idea how to fix it. Maybe she would tell me where the matches were. Then I'd just have to stay up all night with paranoia to make sure I didn't burn anything down. But at least I'd be warm. And I wouldn't die.

I picked up the phone next to the bed.

It was dead.

I slammed it back down on its cradle, my heart beating rapidly as I jumped to my feet and began pacing back and forth, fighting the panic.

_Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone_.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped up and I ran to the window, clutching at the sill as if it would save me. I practically pressed my face against the glass and I blinked out into the night and the dark ranch house.

That one, small bathroom light was still on, burning across the distance like a beacon.

Without even pausing to think about it, I made my way swiftly down the stairs and back outside. I went around to the barn, securing the locks on the stall doors one last time, checking all of the horses to make sure they were content for the night. Then I turned to face the hills and the house beyond them.

I started walking with fierce determination, slinking apprehension making every step drag even as I tried to hold my head boldly.

I wondered what I would say to him; if I would turn around before I got there or if I would knock on the door or if I would just walk in like I'd never left or if I would ignore him or if he would ignore me or if I would ask for his help or if I would ask to stay the night. Ask to stay for good.

I clambered over the hill, my whole body tensing against the wind that was so much stronger, so much more painful at the top. I glanced back at the dark cabin that had been my home for the past week, that had felt more like a real home than anywhere I had ever stayed. It was nothing without Alice, I realized.

I turned back and kept walking, down the hill until I reached the edge of the yard. I could see the black, dead tree and I wondered if it would survive the wind or if it would be torn from the ground by its dry roots.

When I reached the bottom step of the porch, I stopped walking. My throat was completely dry, my heart hammering in my chest. I wasn't cold anymore.

I hadn't thought of anything to say.

Slowly, I ascended the stairs as if I was on my way to be executed.

What if he had changed his mind? What if he had liked not having me around? What if he wanted me to stay gone? What if he didn't care if I froze to death? I swallowed with difficulty, trying to imagine what I would do if he turned me away. Would I beg?

I pressed my palm flat against the front door, afraid to knock. I looked back in hesitation, my eyes falling on the empty driveway.

He wasn't home.

Exhaling loudly, I tried the handle and found that it was still unlocked. In the middle of nowhere, with Alice and Jasper the only people for miles, locking the front door had never been a necessity. I had never been so thankful for isolation in my life.

I pushed the door open eagerly and brushed my hand against the wall to my left, looking for the hall light.

Everything was illuminated, the light coming on with a cheery immediacy.

I laughed in relief as I pulled the door closed behind me, shutting out the wind and allowing myself to be encompassed in the warmth of the house. I looked around, surprised at how comforted I felt to be back. This place that had been a torment and a prison was now a familiar refuge. I couldn't help but feel suddenly and completely safe.

I walked in, stripping off my heavy coat and pulling off my boots. They were wet with snow and mud, so I brought them to the back room in order to dry. I put a towel down so the floor wouldn't get dirty.

When I made my way back through the kitchen, I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was almost six. I wondered if Edward would be home soon or if he was staying the night in the city with Rosalie and Esme. I tried not to let myself worry about it, about what would happen if he kicked me out and I had nowhere to run, telling myself that I would face it when he came home.

I dug through the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. It was pretty sparse and I felt a slight gnaw of guilt as I thought about Edward not eating anything all week. I knew it wasn't my responsibility to feed him, I knew he was an adult that should and could take care of himself and his own needs, but there was still that inexplicable desire to do that for him. It hadn't subsided.

I managed to dig out some cheese and grill it up on the two end pieces of a loaf of bread. I wrapped half of it in tin foil and put it in the refrigerator before making my way upstairs to take a shower. The hot water helped to soothe my chilled bones and relax me significantly. My fingers and toes went from white to angry red under the heat of the spray.

When I wrapped myself up in a towel and walked to my room to get some pajamas, I jumped a little at the cold air that met me. I darted in and grabbed some clothes out of my drawers before hurrying back out. There was no way I was sleeping in there tonight.

I dressed in the bathroom before heading back downstairs. I checked the clock again, a little past eight.

Feeling slightly tired after the stress of the day, I gathered up some blankets from the living room and dragged them into the library. I heaped them onto one of the arm chairs, then I walked over to one of the shelves to pick out a book. Reading, as a rule, put me right to sleep. I had never really enjoyed it. I ran my finger along the spines of the books, looking for something that might peak my interest.

As I was looking, my eye caught on the mantel beside me and the row of pictures line up over the black, ornamental fireplace. I saw my own face staring back at me and I walked closer curiously, wishing the lights in the library weren't so old and dim.

It was a picture from our wedding day, a picture that I had never seen before. I traced my finger along the frame as I looked at it. I was looking right at the camera, happy but not smiling. I seemed…content. Beautiful. There was nothing about that wedding that was undignified. It had been perfect and perfectly cold. Edward's arms were wrapped around me and his face was in my hair. Maybe he was kissing the top of my head, it was hard to tell. His expression was unreadable, his eyes closed.

The bottom of the picture had folded slightly inside the frame and I could see the corner of another picture sticking out from behind it.

I grabbed the frame and flipped it over, releasing the catch on the velvet back and pulling it away.

It wasn't a second picture.

I saw a piece of paper with scripted writing, elegant and class. No trace of anything real. I knew exactly what it was before I lifted it out, looking at it incredulously.

Our wedding invitation.

Of course Esme would have kept it, would have put it in with a picture that – to her – had been filled with so much happiness. My eyes traced over our names, the date, the time.

I had never seen it before.

It was so different than the invitation that I had wanted, the invitation that should have been mine.

It had been buried in the pile of mail I picked up at the front desk before making my way slowly up the stairs to my new, tiny apartment. It was all I could afford as a student, especially since I had no one to live with. It was dirty and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the radiator made everything sweltering and yesterday I was sure I had seen a cockroach. Still, it was fitting for what my life had become.

"Move in with me," Edward had insisted, when I had taken him with me to look at the apartment.

I rolled my eyes as we got out of the car and looked up at the building. "Edward, what happened between us was a one-time thing. I'm not moving in with you."

I didn't look at him to see his disappointment, something I was so used to since that one fateful night a little over a week ago when I had gone to him.

He had barely stepped in the door to the apartment before the offer sprung from his mouth yet again, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes that said '_you can't live here_'.

But I could. And I did.

I jammed the key into the lock and shoved the door open with my shoulder. It flew open with a bang, which was the only way it would open at all, and I stumbled inside, kicking it closed behind me again.

I made my way into my bedroom, rifling through my mail quickly, not really expecting to see anything important. Not until my eyes fell on the small little envelope with my name scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting.

I sat down on the bed and stared at it for several moments, holding it out away from my body as if it was going to attack me.

A million scenarios flittered through my head, each more romantic and dramatic than the next. I imagined all the things he could have written to me, all of the apologies, the declarations of undying love, all the beautiful, desperate words he could have come up with that would fix everything.

At last, when I could bear the anticipation no longer, I turned the envelope over and opened it with trembling fingers. I yanked the letter out eagerly, tossing the envelope aside with an excited smile. My eyes fell onto the paper clutched in my hand, my eyes skimming across the words quickly. Then again. And again.

Again.

It was handwritten, beautiful, simple, personal, perfect. No elegance or pretension, no elitist calligraphy or scented flourishes or oddly pastel-colored paper. It was written like an essay or a note or a letter: on regular paper in a regular font. But it _wasn't_ en essay or a note or a letter.

It was a wedding invitation.

_His_ wedding invitation.

I dropped it lightly onto the bed beside me and lifted the phone off the hook. I quickly dialed a number and held it up to my ear. It rang twice before it was answered on the other end.

"Can you come over please?" I asked, and hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

I sat on my bed, tears running in silent tracks down my cheeks, for seconds, for minutes, for a thousand years.

Finally, I lurched to my feet and sprinted to the bathroom. I emptied all the contents of my stomach onto the tile floor, just shy of the toilet.

Shaking my head, I placed the picture back on the mantel after folding the corner of the picture down to hide what lay behind it.

I had never seen that wedding invitation before. My wedding invitation. Edward had picked out and sent them because I didn't want to, because I couldn't face having one less perfect. And it would be less perfect no matter what it looked like, because the name next to mine was all wrong.

Swallowing, I turned back to the bookshelf and grabbed the first book I touched: _Wuthering Heights_. I had always hated the story, thinking it was too dark, too scary, too painful. I didn't think I would mind reading it tonight.

I walked back to the armchair and drew the blankets tight around me, tucking my legs up to my chest, reveling in the warmth and softness of the house. I glanced at the clock on the wall hanging over the piano. Almost eight thirty.

I opened the book and began to read.

I was asleep before Lockwood walked across the Grange.


	21. The Apology

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **This chapter is a day late because I'm a genius and broke four fingers in my right hand. Turns out, typing with one hand is a little more difficult than you (me) would expect. This chapter was half done already, so I was able to get it to you within some kind of reasonable timeframe despite the fact that I had to keep re-writing it (with one hand) to make the characters sound a little less like they were high on Vicodin (which I may have been). The next chapter might take three or four days instead of the usual two. Even though my chapters are short...one hand. It blows. So if I could just call in a super duper extra big favor and ask you guys to be a tiny bit patient with me, that'd be wonderful.

I'd like to thank **EdwardsBloodType **and **bananapancakes7** for their recs. More of the big dogs. Except I never read fanfic so people are like "I was sent here by THEM!" and I'm like "Who are...they?" and they're like "THE BIG DOGS!".

I need to start reading more.

My ugly gimp hand could be a good excuse to do that.

* * *

**The Apology**

I was warm and content, filled the lazy feeling of being surrounded in someone's arms. The images that danced around in my dreams were colorful and soft and pleasant. I could feel my own breathing, feel my own heartbeat, and I knew I was surfacing. I didn't want to, I didn't understand what it was that was pulling me back, but it was irresistible.

A voice was calling my name from across a long distance. "Bella?"

I shifted, trying to ignore whoever, whatever it was that was disturbing me.

"_Bella_."

My eyes snapped open at the very instant I recognized the voice that had so effectively permeated my dreams and dragged me back to consciousness unwillingly.

I blinked several times, trying to clear the hazy glow of the room and drag the pale face in front of me into focus. The white of the skin, the bronze of the hair bleeding and fuzzing together. The only feature that was painfully, incredibly clear was the brilliant green of eyes.

"Edward?" My voice came out a confused mumble, his name sounding like a sighed question, not really expecting an answer.

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly, his head tilted to one side as he kneeled in front of me.

What a strange question.

Why wouldn't I be here?

I was safe here.

Warm and comfortable and sleepy.

And then it came rushing back: where I was, what I was doing here, what had happened.

"Oh!" My entire body jerked upright into a sitting position, the blankets that had been cocooned around me were shoved down to my waist, my legs tangled in them tightly. My eyes whipped around the room quickly, noting that I had been curled onto one of the library chairs, the dim light still on, _Wuthering Heights_ forgotten and tossed aside onto the floor.

I bit my lip, feeling a swell of panic rising in my chest.

"Are you alright?" I heard Edward ask beside me.

My eyes snapped back to his face in surprise. I had been so prepared for his anger or rejection or – at the very least – his annoyance, that the concern on his face was completely and utterly disarming. He was kneeling beside the chair, his hand on one of the arms, looking up at me with confusion and worry.

"Yeah, I…" I finally swallowed my shock and stuttered, "The power went out at Alice's. It was getting pretty cold so I just thought…" I tapered off suddenly, twisting my hands in my lap uncomfortably.

What I had _thought_ was that I couldn't be alone. I had frozen up under the pressure of the unexpected and had come running back to the first person I thought could save me, tail between my legs.

I waited, holding my breath, for Edward to recognize my weakness.

"Where are Alice and Jasper?" he asked instead, glancing around the library as if I was hiding them somewhere. "Are they upstairs?"

"No, no!" I said quickly, explaining. "They went away for the weekend. I was watching the horses for them and…" I paused, watching Edward's curious glances land on me, his face becoming unreadable again as he heard what I was saying. I swallowed the newly formed lump in my throat to choke out, "I'm sorry."

Edward's eyebrows rose slightly. "Why are you apologizing?"

I opened my mouth and then shut it abruptly. He hadn't asked which of the many things I was apologizing for, he didn't tell me that he wouldn't accept or that he didn't want to hear it. There was confusion in his question. The unsaid part: _There's nothing to apologize for._

"I don't know," I said quietly, with a shrug. My voice was almost a whisper as I dragged my eyes back up slowly to meet his.

He leaned forward a little, his posture earnest, his words strong. "I told you that you were welcome here and I meant it."

There was no room to debate him.

"Thank you." I simply mouthed the words, my eyes still locked with his.

We looked at each other for several moments and I could feel my body relaxing back into the chair. He wasn't going to kick me out, he didn't resent that I had come back. I watched as he leaned back onto his heels and stood, walking the two steps over to the couch and sitting down across from me.

"So when do Alice and Jasper get back home?" he inquired, the casualness of the question completely foreign to me.

"Tomorrow morning," I told him, keeping my voice even.

Edward nodded as if it was what he had expected. Then it was his turn to drop his eyes down to his lap, twisting his hands together and picking at his cuticles nervously. When he looked back at me at last, his brow was furrowed slightly.

"So will…?" He stopped, swallowing.

He didn't look like he was planning on finishing the question and he didn't need to. I could practically hear it, curiosity leaking from every pore, crying out with every tense line in his body.

_Will you move back here? Will you go back to them? _

_Will you leave? _

_Will you stay?_

I leaned back into the chair with a sigh, pulling at the ends of my hair thoughtfully as I watched him, watching me. I could see the interest in his posture, the engagement in his eyes. It was more than I had seen in months. But there was no indication one way or the other. I couldn't see the right answer anywhere in his face.

"I feel awful staying with them," I said at last, holding my hands out in explanation. "I feel awful forcing them to take care of me like…"

I stopped.

_Like you did._

He seemed to realize the missing words as well. I saw his jaw clench taut against his cheek, his entire body tensing with emotion. I scrubbed my forehead with my hand, momentarily shielding me from his eyes.

Then I heard, "You can come back."

I pulled my hand away from my face and looked at him, sure I hadn't heard correctly. But he was still looking at me, his face carefully controlled again.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. We had never been vocal about what we needed, what we wanted, how we were feeling. I wasn't sure that I was even capable of telling him the truth and speaking honestly.

I took a deep breath.

"I'm just afraid that…" I stuttered to a stop, restarted, "I don't know if…"

Edward watched my struggle with a nod and finished for me.

"You don't know if I'll kick you out of the house again," he stated calmly, as if he had known it all along.

My face flushed.

I was so goddamn tired of being afraid, but I wasn't sure how to stop.

"You never gave me a reason, never told me why," I attempted to explain to him. "You apologized…and I _do_ believe you, but...that doesn't mean…"

I could feel myself getting stuck again.

Edward tore his eyes away from mine quickly, his mouth opening in exasperation. For some reason I didn't think it was directed towards me. His hand flew up to the back of his neck and he began rubbing at some of the tension.

"That doesn't mean you can trust me," he finished my thought.

This time there was resignation in his voice. The corners of his mouth curved down slightly, his eyebrows crushed hard, his eyes sad. He looked like he was searching for an answer that was impossible to find.

But it was the wrong question.

"It's not that…_exactly_." My voice was quiet and hesitant. Edward turned back to face me again slowly, his hand dropping away from his neck. "I just don't want to…"

I paused.

"What?" he prompted, his voice gentle.

I swallowed hard and finally managed, "Whatever I did to make you so angry…I don't want to start doing it again."

Edward blinked at me.

I could see the surprise at my answer washing over him. Surprise, which seemed to slowly fade into an expression that looked suspiciously like guilt; remorse.

"It wasn't your fault," he said at last, with a shake of his head.

I couldn't help the cynical chuckle that escaped me.

"Everything that's happened here is my fault." I took the blame with an effortlessness that was freeing because it was the truth. My truth. "I know that now."

Edward's eyes narrowed at me immediately. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" I demanded. "It's true."

"As far as I can tell, there are _two_ people in this room," he replied, folding his arms across his chest pointedly.

I opened and closed my mouth several times.

He waited calmly as if finally registered within me that something had changed. Something in the fight or the week we spent apart or my return to the house had altered one of us or both of us.

My eyes traveled over Edward slowly, still wearing his clothes from work. His tie was loose, several buttons were undone, his hair was more tousled than usual and I imagined him running his fingers through it several hundred times on the drive back to the house. I could see the stress and energy that kept him in the room, kept him talking to me. It mirrored my own perfectly. And yet we were here, battling through the tension for something on the other side that neither of us had any evidence of.

I was silent for a long time as I looked at him, biting my lip in contemplation.

It was Edward's voice that broke me out of my thoughts.

"So," he said conclusively. "You don't want to stay here with me and you don't want to go back."

Even though it was phrased as a statement, I knew it was a question.

_What now, Bella?_

I sighed, knowing that he didn't really understand that it wasn't about trusting him or making him angry, it wasn't about using Alice and Jasper. My desire to be alone – to not need him and to not need them – was horribly and inextricably tied to the reason I couldn't be without them.

"I just wish I wasn't so fucking _useless_ all the time," I growled out the insecurity suddenly and without pause.

Edward barely hesitated. "You're not useless."

I felt a ludicrous giggle bubbling up from inside me, laughter that was born of futility and helpless frustration. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Edward, but I really, _really_ am."

"Well," Edward said thoughtfully, watching my sad smile. "If you don't want to be, then you won't be for long."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I demanded abruptly.

Edward's smile was as sad as mine.

"Because this is my fault, too," he said firmly. "And the past few months, I've been…" He tapered off, his voice seeming to slip away from him as his eyes caught mine.

The months of silence and hunger and anger and tension.

I could see him regret them and not regret them.

"I understood it," I said softly, with a nod.

Edward's smile was a little less sad.

Then it faded away completely.

"With all due respect," he said solemnly. "You really, _really_ didn't."

"Okay, I didn't," I admitted, a sincere laugh escaping me unexpectedly. I stifled it, my expression shifting to one of genuine interest. "But I _want_ to understand. That's got to count for something, right?"

Edward looked at me for several moments, his eyes trailing over my body slowly until they rested on my face. When his gaze locked with mine I could see the confusion that was less confusion and more…wonder.

I could see him _wondering_.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice a sharp exhale.

I sat up a little taller. "Excuse me?"

He seemed to struggle for a moment before stating simply, "You're different."

I tilted my head, baffled by the sudden turn in the conversation.

"I mean…I guess I…" I stuttered, unsure what he wanted me to say. Finally I glared back at him and folded my own arms to match his. "You were here the whole time, you know."

Edward stared at me for a second longer before breathing "yeah" in half-hearted agreement.

I puzzled for a moment longer over his vague answer before turning the question back around on him.

"Well, what happened to _you_?" I demanded, my voice unfamiliarly teasing.

"I changed my mind," he answered simply, with a shrug.

As if it was as easy as that.

"Changed your mind about _what_?" I prodded, feeling my pulse spike a little at the possibility of getting some answers.

"Things."

My sigh turned into a quiet groan of frustration as I rolled my eyes at him. He continued to look back at me, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Alright," I conceded grudgingly, knowing there was no sense in pushing him. "And what exactly changed your mind about _things_?"

Edward shrugged. "Who knows."

It was written all over his defensive posture and the slight spark of vulnerability in his eyes. I knew that the more we danced around each other, the more time we wasted. But I could almost see it clearly now. Maybe until this point it had been evasion on both our parts; that was where we lived, what we were good at, what kept us from breaking completely. Now, though, _now_ it was self-preservation. Everything between us made it impossible to be completely open with each other if we both wanted to survive it. I was pretty sure that he wasn't ready to hear everything and I _knew _I wasn't.

"Let me ask you something, Edward," I said quietly, thoughtfully changing the subject. "Back when things were good, back when we first met and we were happy together…or you were happy with me…did you ever _really_ let me in?"

It had been a question that had tortured me for the past months.

Every day watching him draw further away from me, watching his ice and his apathy, and thinking that I had never really known him. That even back when things were at their best, I didn't know who he was.

I had always been brutally honest with him.

He had been brutally dishonest.

Edward was quiet for a long time before saying, "I would have, if…" His voice wavered and died in his throat.

"If what?" I prompted, trying to keep my voice gentle.

"If you had cared enough to ask."

I felt his words like a crushing blow, the truth of them radiating painfully through every vibrating bone and nerve in my body.

"I'm asking now."

"And _now_ it's a little more complicated than just asking."

I couldn't just ask anymore.

I could just walk up to him and say "penny for your thoughts" and ask him how his day went and what he wanted for dinner and how he liked the people he worked with and what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. I couldn't ask him what his favorite book was or who his best friend was in elementary school or why he loved science as much as he did.

Everything in our lives eclipsed the little things that usually make up a person. What made people who they were no longer defined us.

As much as it could never have been anticipated, I had always known that marrying him had been wrong, that taking advantage of him and letting myself be taken advantage of couldn't build a relationship with a fighting chance.

And I hadn't cared.

I hadn't cared that I didn't know him, he hadn't cared that he didn't know me. He had loved me, I had needed him. Years of thinking that maybe we weren't the problem, that maybe it was fate, that maybe we were just _wrong_ for each other and we couldn't have known, cut down in a single uttered phrase from him.

"I guess it is," I said quietly feeling tears pricking at my eyes.

I brushed them away quickly in frustration, dropping my head so he wouldn't see. He must have noticed, though, because he didn't respond for a long time. He sat, silently, as I struggled to regain control.

"Listen, Bella," I heard his voice, so soft. "Why don't I go?"

My head instantly whipped up to look at him.

"Go?" I asked, quickly. "Go where?"

"Let me talk to Alice and Jasper tomorrow," he suggested. "I'll see if I can get them to move in here with you, help you take care of the house. That way you won't be indebted to them."

"I'll just be indebted to you," I scoffed, fighting the disbelief that threatened to overtake me.

Edward shook his head. "I've said it before: you don't owe me anything."

I felt a lump form in my throat once again.

"Where will you go?" I asked, my voice quivering slightly.

"My mother has been itching to move back into her and my father's house. I'll go live with her, in the city. It'll be closer to the hospital and I won't have to worry about her living alone…" he shrugged, as if it was the most sensible suggestion in the world.

And maybe it was.

The idea of staying with Alice and Jasper here, having a place where I wasn't afraid, where I felt safe, where I had time to make some decisions and a freedom from fear to do so…I could feel my pulse starting to race slightly with excitement.

At the same time I could feel a slight ache, a small hole of discomfort.

"What does this mean?" I whispered.

Edward looked confused.

"What?" he asked.

I forced myself to say the words. "You leaving me." My entire body shuddered, but my voice remained steady. I was sure Edward hadn't noticed. "What does it _mean_?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Edward…"

"It means whatever you want it to mean," he said vaguely, waving his hand in dismissal.

What was he saying?

That I had to decide what to do? That him leaving could mean we were separated or divorced or married?

I could see it in his face that he was ready for me to say anything, to tell him what I wanted, and he wouldn't fight me.

"That's not up to me," I said firmly.

"No, Bella. It _is_ up to you." Edward shook his head again, his voice strong. "You've spent your whole life allowing people to make choices for you, to shape and define who you are and how you live your life." He paused before adding, "And I don't exclude myself from that."

I could feel my panic rising, not knowing what I could possibly want or how he could make me choose.

"It wasn't your – " I began before he cut me off with a harsh laugh.

"Wasn't my _fault_?" he demanded bitterly. "Yeah, yeah. None of it was my fault."

I inhaled sharply as if I was going to say something, but there was nothing I could say to him. I watched the guilt and the sarcasm slowly fade away and it was replaced, once more, with that same unreadable expression.

Finally, I asked him quietly, "Why are you doing this?"

He granted me a small smile.

"Because I _should_," he said, repeating my own words back at me.

I nodded quietly and tore my eyes from his, looking back down at my lap. My eyes trailed to the floor slowly and caught on the fallen paperback, its pages bent and folded from impact. I leaned over and lifted it off the ground quietly and without comment. I smoothed the pages and closed it tightly, placing it on the little table next to the chair.

"Should I call Alice and Jasper tomorrow and ask them?"

I almost didn't hear the question, it was so quiet.

Without saying a word - without looking at him - I nodded.

"Alright," Edward agreed.

Then I heard him shifting to stand up. I still didn't look at him. I heard him move towards me and then he was right in front of me, his hand outstretched to mine as if he wanted to help me to my feet.

I couldn't help but look up at him now.

He was standing tall above me, looking down, his palm face-up as he waited.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and I cocked my head to one side in question.

"Bed?" he prompted.

Understanding, I hesitated before shaking my head with a small smile.

"It's too cold," I explained, motioning to the warmth of the library contentedly. "I'm fine down here."

Edward swallowed and dropped his hand, his eyes flashing with something that looked suspiciously like guilt before he composed himself again.

"You can sleep my room," he offered, before amending quickly, "I'll sleep on the living room couch."

"Edward…" I began in protest, feeling myself pale slightly as I remembered the last time I had entered his room.

Edward smirked at me. "I promise I cleaned it up."

I couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth suddenly, an immediate release of tension. Edward's smirk turned into a small, genuine smile at my reaction and he held his hand out to me once more.

This time, I looked at it for only a second before taking it. I felt his fingers wrap around mine, the warmth of his palm pressing into my own. I stood up and pushed the blankets that had been wrapped around me tightly down to the floor, stepping out of them with uncharacteristic grace.

As soon as I was steady on my feet, I released Edward's hand. He bent over and lifted the blankets into his arms, dragging them into the living room and setting up the couch. I hesitated for a moment, unsure what I should do. Before I could deliberate too long, Edward was motioning me to follow him and he led me quietly up the stairs. I trailed along behind him, watching the pull and tense of his back under his shirt, thinking that he looked exhausted.

When we reached his door I paused, my steps slowing to a halt. Edward grabbed the knob easily and pushed the door open before turning back to me and motioning me in, unaware of my brief hesitation.

I walked past him slowly, into the room.

My eyes widened as I took in the clean floor, the immaculately made bed, the tidy bookshelf.

"I told you," I heard from behind me.

I turned back around to see Edward watching me from the doorway with a small, embarrassed smile.

I smiled back at him weakly, still feeling slightly flabbergasted.

Edward cleared his throat awkwardly in my silence, and the smile dropped from his face to be replaced with a more formal, courteous expression.

"Well, goodnight." He said with a slight nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he turned on his heal and made his way back over to the stairs.

His immediate retreat seemed to snap me out of my shock.

I found myself calling his name quickly before following him out of the room. He was already halfway down the stairs when he heard me. He turned, his eyes lighting on mine with confusion. I walked down the five steps separating us and threw my arms around his neck, my body crashing into his.

I felt him tense up under my embrace, but I didn't mind. I couldn't feel anything but relief coursing through me, flooding through my veins and filling me with an unexpected sense of hope.

I was standing on the step above him, which made us exactly eye to eye when I pulled away. I had to fight to keep from laughing at his expression, which was similar to what mine had been moments ago when I had walked into his room. His arms were hanging limply by his sides.

I smiled at him for a moment before turning around and walking back up the stairs.

I could feel everything I had wanted to say rattling around in my head as I pulled back the covers on the large master bed. Words that I should have called after him or whispered with my arms around him or told him in the library, with his eyes locked to mine.

_Thank you. I've never deserved you. I'm sorry. Stay._


	22. The Exodus

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Exodus**

I kicked my heels lightly against the tires as I swung my legs back and forth off the side of the truck bed. The rubber against rubber vibrated back, tickling my feet. My fingers traced along the side of the bed, the metal cool under my hands.

It was a beautiful day – the first in a while. The sun was warm and the wind was freezing. The snow was beginning to melt at last, under the gentle urging of the sun. Everything was still a blinding white and lovely, but I could see the icicles along the porch roof starting to drip down to the steps below.

I remained quiet as I watched Edward move from the house to his car, his arms loaded up with clothes, books, suitcases. He would glance at me from time to time and I would smile at him sadly, not saying anything and not offering to help.

I didn't think I'd be able to keep up my resolve if I opened my mouth to speak, if I felt the weight of the imminent solitude in my arms.

Earlier in the week, the morning after I had returned to the ranch house, I had woken up fairly late. The sun didn't crash through the master bedroom windows as soon as it crested the horizon, so I was able to slowly yawn awake, refreshed and unsure of what time it was.

It took me several minutes to get out of bed, warm as I stretched luxuriously. Finally I swung my legs around to the floor and stood, padding out into the hallway to my bathroom. I knew there was a master bath attached to Edward's room, but I didn't want to use it. I still felt more comfortable in my small little corner of the house.

I grabbed a change of clothes, sweatshirt and jeans and socks warm enough for me to go out in to feed the horses. I found a towel and slung it over my other arm, making my way from my old room back to the bathroom.

I took a long shower, amazed at how easy I felt. It was almost like poison being extracted from a wound, the slow drain and relief. I knew that Edward and I hadn't decided everything, knew there were still things that needed to be worked out, but for the first time I thought maybe we'd be able to do it. Without the pressure of living together, without the forced interaction, we would be able to talk and apologize and forgive on our own terms. I still wasn't sure if I deserved his forgiveness, I still wasn't sure if he deserved mine, but it no longer felt so impossible.

Finally, I was able to convince myself to turn the hot water off and step into the cold air. I cringed when I managed to get out of the shower and get dressed, wrapping my hair up in the towel tightly against the chill.

I gathered my dirty clothes and when I brought them back to my room, I heard voices filtering up the stairs from the kitchen.

"…I'm sorry you were worried." I heard the tail-end of something Edward was saying. He sounded annoyed. I paused for a moment and listened curiously, standing still at the top of the stairs.

Alice's voice replied with a slightly strained tone. "We're just glad she's alright."

"And what if she wasn't?" Edward prodded. My brow furrowed in confusion at his question, not understanding the context.

There was a long pause.

Finally, I heard Alice say quietly, "Edward, we _can't_ move in here."

I let a little gasp escape me.

He had told them he was leaving? He had asked them to move in?

He hadn't woken me up?

"Why not?" he demanded, almost immediately.

"Because this isn't our house," Alice said apologetically. "We _have_ a house."

"Your house is too small for the three of you," Edward insisted. I could hear the frustration in his tone, almost bordering on desperation.

"That's not the point!"

Edward continued, rambling on, "You'd still be right near the horses…it really wouldn't make much of a difference…"

I heard Alice bark a sarcastic laugh. "Of course it would!" she exclaimed.

"Alice, calm down." That had to be Jasper's smooth, velvet tone.

"Why?" she shot back, and I could almost see her whipping around to face him, her little face so fierce. "Do _you_ think we should do it?"

"No, I don't." Jasper's reply was soothing and calm. "But he was just _offering_…"

"I want you to do this," Edward cut him off sharply. "I'll pay you."

I felt my mouth drop open as heat rose into my cheeks with embarrassment.

Jasper's voice was a little sharp now as he asked incredulously. "Pay us to take care of your wife?"

There was a long pause and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"I don't…" Edward began, then paused before finishing, "I don't want her to be alone."

Both Alice and Jasper were quiet after that and – my face still blushing red – I walked quickly down the stairs and turned into the kitchen.

"Why not?" I demanded loudly.

Edward and Alice were sitting at the kitchen table, Jasper standing behind Alice's chair with his hands lightly on her shoulders. When they heard my voice they all whipped around quickly, their expressions startled.

Edward jumped to his feet.

"Bella, you're awake," he said, his voice betraying his surprise.

"I'm sorry, should I go back upstairs?" I asked with a scowl as I stepped into the kitchen. "Get out of the way while you guys decide what to do with me?"

Edward paled considerably.

"It's not like that, Bella," he said weakly.

I shook my head. "No, it's _exactly_ like that."

Alice rose to her feet slowly and my eyes flicked to her at once. She looked at me with a little hesitation. "It's not that we don't want to help you…_of course_ we do. You can come over anytime and I hope that you do. But we just can't _live_ here."

I smiled at her and said reassuringly, "Well, I wouldn't want you to."

"Bella…" Edward breathed my name in protest.

I turned back to him sharply.

"If you don't want me to be alone, then don't leave," I said simply.

I hadn't meant for my words to come out as harsh as they did, I hadn't meant to make my offer sound like it was just another option, that I didn't care one way or the other. But it didn't matter _how_ I said it. Edward heard the words, he knew what I was saying, what I was asking, and he dropped his eyes from my face anyway.

He seemed intent on studying the floor as I looked on.

Alice and Jasper glanced between us, concerned and silent.

Finally, I stepped forward. "Will you excuse us for a minute?" I asked politely before seizing Edward's hand and leading him out of the kitchen and into the hallway without waiting for a response.

Edward followed me without much resistance.

When I was sure we were out of earshot, I turned around to face him. He was watching me carefully, as if he was nervous about what I was going to do next.

"What the _hell_, Edward?" I hissed quietly, making sure I couldn't be heard in the other room.

"What?" came his defensive reply. I could see hesitation in his face, though. "You agreed to it last night."

"You mean last night when we _talked_?" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. "Yeah, how stupid of me to think that changed things."

Edward looked offended. "It _did_."

"Really?" I asked, skeptically. "What if Alice and Jasper _had_ agreed to move in here? What if they had said yes before I even woke up? Would you have discussed it with me? Would we have talked about what it meant? Or would you have just told me how it was going to be?"

Edward looked stunned for a moment before whispering weakly, "You agreed."

"I agreed that you could _call_ them," I said in exasperation. "I thought we would _talk_ about what you moving out would mean, whether or not they would want to be involved and how much. I didn't think you would just…" I trailed off, running a frustrated hand through my wet hair, tugging on the ends of it as I shook my head.

"What?" Edward prompted me on.

I folded my arms across my chest defensively and took a deep breath.

"Last night, when you said I could make my own decisions from now on…" I swallowed and tried to keep my voice steady when I asked the question. "Did you mean it?"

I saw Edward's entire face fall when he heard my question, realization hitting him in a single moment, knocking the wind out of him.

I dropped my arms

"Edward, listen," I said gently, trying to get him to hear what I was saying. It was a little redundant since I already clearly had his undivided attention. "I would _love_ it if they moved in. Honestly, it would give me an incredible sense of security. But I'm pretty sure half the reason you want to go is to take that security away from me." I shrugged. "And I _get it_. I have to be on my own for a while."

Edward finally met my eyes.

"What if something happens?" he asked, his voice low.

I shrugged again.

"They're right over the hill," I reminded him. "And I have a phone now."

He didn't seem reassured. He crossed his arms over his own chest and glared right back at me, as if I wasn't thinking this through.

"And if you get hurt?" he demanded.

I chuckled quietly. "That'll always be a risk if I'm doing anything other than lying down, motionless."

I could see the hint of a smile start at the corners of his mouth, before it faded back into worry.

I swallowed nervously and practically whispered, "If you're so worried, then stay."

Again, Edward dragged his eyes away from me. "I don't _want_ to leave," he said, his voice all resignation.

I looked at him sadly, at the posture of his body, at the ragged defeat singing from every curve. He didn't want to leave, but he had to. I didn't want him to leave, but I needed him to. Once again, he was doing this for me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He looked back up at me and nodded in acknowledgement.

I was relieved, but I could feel the stirrings of guilt beginning inside of me.

I knew I _shouldn't_ feel guilty. After all, when had he ever cared about my safety before this? He'd left me alone for weeks and weeks, he had tossed me out of the house with nothing, he had done everything he could to ignore me.

But he'd also wrapped my hand when I had sliced it on the glass of the lamp.

I could see enough to know that whatever he was going through had made him a contradiction that I didn't understand.

And he was right: things had changed.

"Listen," I said softly. "Why don't you come up this weekend and check on things? I'll tell you how the first week went and you can bring me supplies."

Edward looked at me for several moments, surprised.

"Alright," he said hesitantly. Then his face cracked into a tiny smile. "Although…I really won't need to bring you supplies."

"Why?" I asked, confused.

In one quick movement, Edward had whipped the credit card out of his pocket that he always gave me to buy groceries. He held it out to me expectantly between his index and middle finger.

I furrowed my brow as I took the offered piece of plastic.

"You'll be able to get them yourself," he explained, smiling a little more.

Then he turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

I followed after him quickly, holding the card out, calling, "Edward, I'm not _walking_ into town…!"

We walked back into the kitchen together and spoke to Alice and Jasper. I told them the situation and accepted when they politely offered to help me if I ever needed it. Alice suggested that I still come over and help her with the horses a couple days a week and Jasper remarked that we should have dinner together the nights he couldn't make it home.

Edward didn't say much.

When they left, he asked me to hang back in the kitchen while he walked them out.

I had no idea what he said to them.

The next day, Edward had started to pack up his things, clearing out the room and helping me move my clothes in. There wasn't much conversation as we folded and hung up clothes. I never asked him why he wasn't at work.

At around noon, Jasper came by the house and Edward left with him, telling me that he had some errands to run. I shrugged and thought nothing of it.

A little more than an hour later I heard a loud roaring engine near the house and I ran over to the window to see Jasper pulling Edward's car into the driveway silently. Behind him was an ancient red truck, all thunder and clanging metal.

I hurried down the stairs and out the front door, standing on the porch and watching with confusion as Edward hopped down from the cab. I saw Jasper getting out of Edward's car with a large, amused grin on his face.

"What is _that_?" I said, cocking my eyebrow and pointing to the large vehicle.

Edward patted the hood and looked up at me with an embarrassed shrug. "It's your new car."

My jaw dropped.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I demanded as I walked slowly down the porch steps, my eyes locked on the red beast. I reached my hand out, sliding it along the side, around to the back, taking in every inch of it slowly, hesitantly.

"I wish I was," Edward mumbled.

I glanced at him for a moment and I could see the guilt, the shame in his eyes as he looked at his own shiny, silver car quickly.

I knew exactly what he was about to offer me.

"I love it," I said quickly and with a surprising amount of sincerity.

Edward's head spun around, his eyes locking with mine.

"_Really_?" he asked, in disbelief.

I didn't know why he would be surprised.

The red truck was change. The red truck was trust. The red truck was independence. The red truck was freedom.

I looked at the red truck and suddenly my life wasn't stagnant.

It had wheels.

I could see Jasper silently laughing in the background.

I ignored him and nodded my head firmly.

"Really."

And that was why, when it came time for Edward to leave, I sat on my truck and didn't move to help him. I felt the strength of everything it could symbolize for me in that rusty metal under my hands. As long as I had it, I could watch Edward carry box after box to his car without panicking at the fact that I would be all alone in a matter of minutes.

The last couple days had been almost…_nice_.

Free of tension, without conflict, and – after our brief argument about my living arrangements – completely devoid of fighting. If I thought for a moment it wasn't because we were both living with the freeing knowledge that we would be apart soon, I would have asked him to stay. Without the pressure of obligation, we managed to get along. Granted, we got along in silence…but it was still very peaceful.

I lifted my eyes when I heard the crunch of Edward's boots on the shoveled concrete of the driveway. He had finished loading the car and was walking towards me slowly, his face wiped clean of emotion.

"Well," he said with a shrug, stopping in front of me. "That's the last of the stuff I'm taking."

I slid down from my perch on the side of the truck bed so I could stand and face him.

"Oh."

At my neutral response, he continued, "There's still some of my stuff in the house. I can come back for it at some point, maybe grab it when I come up this weekend."

"Oh."

Edward's eyes narrowed.

"You going be okay?" he asked me, his voice sharp.

His question seemed to wake me up.

I was able to look at him, at his worried face, and feel the appropriate desire to reassure him. Even if I didn't feel confident or brave or independent, I could certainly let him think I did.

"I'm going over to Alice's for dinner tonight," I told him with a smile. "We'll figure some stuff out and…" I paused when I saw Edward lifting his chin slightly.

I bit my lip, knowing that wasn't really what he was asking.

"Yeah, Edward," I said firmly. "I'll be fine."

He nodded slowly, his eyes downcast.

I heard his voice rumble quiet from his chest. "I would stay if I thought you meant it."

I watched him, his face angled towards the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets, causing his shoulders to hunch under his jacket.

"Thank you," I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way.

Still not looking at me, he asked, "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Sure," I shrugged, feigning nonchalance as my heart began to beat uncomfortably at just the thought of calling him on the phone. "I mean, I'll see you this weekend, right?"

Edward looked at me quickly before moving his eyes away again. He nodded, "Right."

"I'll clean up that other bedroom so you won't have to sleep in the cold one," I said with a smile.

I remembered while I was cleaning the second floor that I had dusted what appeared to be another bedroom. The bed was stripped down to the mattress and buried under boxes of old clothes. I hadn't wanted to move the boxes at the time, unsure why they were there and where I could possibly put them all.

"That's alright," Edward shook his head, a tiny smile making its way to his mouth. "The cold one used to be mine, when I was a kid."

My mouth dropped open a little as I struggled to contain my shock.

Finally, I was able to cloak my surprise in humor. "So Esme was an abusive parent?"

Edward laughed lightly and the sound seemed to warm every inch of me.

"The worst," he agreed, jokingly. Then he explained, still smiling, "No, we actually shared a room until we were old enough, and then we got to pick which room in the house we wanted. I never spent enough time in mine previous to making my selection to realize the heat didn't work properly that far down." He paused, then grinned a little at the memory, "I slept on the couch a lot in the winter."

It was my turn to laugh softly, nodding my head in agreement.

Edward continued, "My parents offered to remodel the third floor and add a bedroom up there, because it was always so warm. But I'd already _chosen_ my room." He shrugged and then he was looking directly at me. "And, for some reason, I loved it."

I cleared my throat a little and looked away, feeling strangely like he wasn't only taking about the room.

"I'm sure it's lovely in the summer." I tried to smile brightly.

Edward studied me for a moment.

Then he shook his head. "Nah. The AC doesn't reach that far."

With that, we both burst out into laughter.

I bent over at the waist slightly, trying to regain control. Edward was laughing too, but I could feel his eyes fixed on me the entire time

Finally, when the hysterical release of tension subsided, I managed, "Okay, well I'll see about getting you some more blankets when you come up."

Edward nodded, his smile fading.

A loud silence descended suddenly as we stared at each other. I could feel my hands itching to reach out and touch him: to shake his hand or pat his back or wrap him up in another awkward, one-sided hug. I reached my arms up behind me and leaned my elbows back on the side of the truck, my fingers brushing along the paint, my palms pressing flat against the metal to keep myself from going to him.

I refused to anything else impulsive, anything that I didn't understand. I was so unclear why I could suddenly feel the urge to be close to him. I didn't know if it was really about him.

I was pretty sure it was just comfort.

Still, watching him leave was going to be difficult. I had been living with him for so long and I had been unhappy for longer. I didn't know how to be without him and I sure as hell didn't know how to be happy.

But he was doing this for me and I owed it to both of us to try, no matter how terrified I was.

"Well," Edward said unceremoniously. "I'll see you later."

I nodded, words caught in my throat.

Finally I was able to breathe out a soft, "Yeah."

Edward nodded back and turned quickly, heading over to his car, which was stuffed full of boxes and suitcases. He opened the door on the driver's side and slid in gracefully.

I gripped the side of the red truck a little tighter as he pulled his car around and headed down the driveway.

"Bye, Edward," I whispered to no one.

I never saw breaklights.


	23. The Test

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Chapters will be coming every two days now instead of every other day. Sorry.

You are a winner, **revrag**. Seriously. And you can all thank **AmyZini**, who is responsible for Edward flinching and (someday) cowering. You are both magic.

* * *

**The Test**

On Thursday morning, I woke up a different person.

I had spent most of Wednesday after Edward had left over with Alice and the horses. I stayed to help her make dinner, we ate with Jasper and talked about little things that didn't really matter. I pretended I was fine with my new arrangement and they pretended they believed me. It wasn't lying. I wasn't lying to myself and I wasn't lying to them. I knew, they knew, and we both chose to ignore it.

I wasn't really a religious person, but it felt like faith. Faith that I would be alright, that I would be able to do this and I would be better for it. Beyond that, faith that Edward would be better for it, that he needed this, too. I was startled to realize that his concerns had become my concerns. I couldn't remember a time before when that had ever been true.

I left their house late, but it was a warm night. The wind had died down and the air was almost starting to feel like spring, even without the sun.

And when I stretched awake in that big, comfy bed, I felt completely and utterly alone.

I was immediately seized with terror and trepidation, almost debilitated by fear. I lay in that bed for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now.

Slowly, realization crept into my consciousness. Realization that being alone didn't necessarily mean that I had no one, or that no one cared. Alice and Jasper were nearby, I had Edward's phone number if I needed it and I almost thought that he would come rushing back if I asked him to. I couldn't be sure, though, and I was done taking him for granted. Still, that not knowing was strangely not as frightening as I thought it would be. Maybe I didn't need him.

I almost slunk back into fear as I decided that of course I needed him. I could do nothing. I had no skills, no resources, and I had absolutely no idea how to begin to fix my life. How he thought I could survive on my own, I had no idea.

Clenching tightly at the sheets, I heard my stomach rumble loudly.

Slowly, I sat up.

_I can cook._

_I can clean._

_I can shower and do laundry and help Alice and read books and work and learn and adapt. I can drive that truck and I can shovel a driveway and I can use a phone and read a book and write and sing and speak and laugh._

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and went downstairs to make myself breakfast.

When it was late enough in the morning, I went back over to Alice's. She had already turned the horses out, so I stayed and helped her muck stalls for a few hours. Then we walked over to the ranch house and cleaned up the third floor a little bit. It was an attic for the most part, with closets full of junk and several unused rooms.

She went home a little before dark and I ate dinner alone. I remembered doing this every night, a few weeks ago seeming like a thousand years. It was different now, too. I thought I would feel it more, be upset knowing how pleasant it was eating my meals with people I considered real friends.

I wasn't.

I didn't struggle to eat it all quickly, racing against the clock to finish before Edward got home. I wasn't worried about what would happen if he found me in the kitchen, what he would think or say, what kind of fight we would get in, how awkward it would be. Everything was completely peaceful. I enjoyed the solitude of eating something I had made for myself, doing the work and enjoying the result on my own.

The only time I felt a little sadness start to creep up on me was when I wrapped the bowl of leftovers, knowing that it would be _me_ that would be eating it tomorrow.

The sadness didn't last long.

Friday was more of the same. Alice called early and asked if I wouldn't mind taking care of the horses in the afternoon, since she was going to be late in the city and was having dinner with Jasper. I agreed eagerly, excited to break up the cleaning with a trip outside. I noted that I had begun to really enjoy being outdoors again, something I hadn't cared about since I had left Forks.

I was also relieved to get away from dwelling on Edward and the phone call I had made to him earlier in the day.

I had gone into my old room – _his_ room – to look for the dust pan. When I had opened the door, my mouth had dropped slightly in panic. The entire far wall was completely soaked, the wallpaper wrinkling and peeling with water damage. Near the closet I heard a slight dripping sound, the ceiling bubbling and cracking and yellow.

It had been getting warmer lately and the snow was starting to melt. If the snow on the roof melted and there was a leak…

Without even thinking I ran downstairs to the kitchen and yanked the phone off the cradle. I punched Edward's cell number quickly, from memory. I bit my lip, tapping my foot impatiently as I waited.

It rang twice before I heard, "Hello?"

"Edward?" I said, my voice whooshing out of me. "The roof is leaking."

There was a slight pause. Then, "Bella?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, fighting the urge to slap my forehead. "Yeah, it's me." I paused awkwardly. "Um…sorry to bother you. Are you at work?"

"I am, actually," Edward confirmed, his voice neutral.

"Oh," I said, suddenly feeling stupid. "I can…call back…"

I could feel my face beginning to flush in embarrassment. _Of course_ he would be at work at one o'clock on a weekday.

The roof was leaking, but I wasn't on a fucking boat. I would survive. And yet the idea that something had gone wrong in a house that wasn't mine had spun me into a panic. I felt suddenly and inexplicably responsible for any damage it accrued while I was staying in it, and the fact that the wallpaper in the cold room had begun to rot and peel in the two days I had been here alone terrified me.

Also, I sounded like a complete idiot.

"It's fine," Edward assured me, sounding slightly distracted. "So the roof's leaking?"

"Uh…yeah," I replied, shrugging as my panic gave way to shame. "It's not that bad, though. I should have waited to call."

"Where is it leaking?" Edward asked, ignoring the stilted awkwardness that had suddenly overtaken me.

"My…the cold room," I told him. "The wallpaper's starting to peel and parts of the ceiling aren't looking too good."

"Alright," Edward said and I got the feeling again that I had interrupted something. I heard voices in the background. "Well, I'll come up earlier tomorrow and see what I can do about the roof."

"You're…" I hesitated. "You're not mad?"

At that, Edward let out a little chuckle and I could almost _feel_ his attention shift to me. "Why would I be mad, Bella? It's not your fault."

"I know," I said, feeling foolish. "But I just feel like…I've been alone for two days and already things are starting to go wrong."

"Bella," Edward said, his voice encouraging. "It's an old house. The roof probably should have been redone years ago." Then he stopped before saying, "It was good of you to call and tell me."

It was my turn to chuckle a little. "It was sort of an impulsive move."

"I have no doubt about that," Edward agreed, and I blushed again remembering my panicked non-greeting.

There was a long pause that followed, both of us unsure what to say.

Finally, Edward cleared his throat and said, "Well, I really should be getting back to work."

"Oh. Yeah, of course," I said hurriedly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Edward confirmed. "Bye, Bella."

"Bye."

After I hung up I had gone back up to the room to look at the damaged wall. I brought a salad bowl up from the kitchen and placed it under the leak, hoping I would remember to check it again and dump the water out before it got full.

A few more hours of cleaning and I made my way over to turn the horses in and feed them dinner. Santana nearly bowled me over with enthusiasm to get to his stall. However, he settled into his food quickly and didn't seem to mind when I stroked his neck for several minutes, listening to the munching sound of his teeth grinding the hay.

On Saturday I woke up early, realizing suddenly and with no small amount of alarm that I needed to go to the store and pick up some food.

The week I had been gone, it hadn't looked like Edward had done any shopping for himself. I didn't think there was enough food for tonight and I wasn't sure if he was planning to stay over until Sunday.

I grabbed my keys and the credit card I hadn't touched since he had handed it to me Monday morning. I drove faster than I normally would, which was still fairly slow, wishing that the maiden voyage of my new truck wasn't so rushed. The clutch was sticky, the interior smelled like cigarettes, and it made an awful rattling sound when I accelerated too fast. It was wonderful.

I pulled up to _South Park Mercantile_ twenty minutes later, yanking my tangled hair into a ponytail quickly before hopping out of the cab. As I walked to the entrance, I glanced around the street, noting that I was one of the only cars out. There was no one walking, no movement. It felt eerie and chilling, like a ghost town.

I opened the door and listened to the bell cheerily announce my presence.

A familiar blonde head poked up above the counter. It seemed to be the only one in the store. I watched a broad smile crawl across Mike's face when his eyes fell on me.

"Hey, Bella," he called in his usual friendly tone.

"Hi, Mike," I replied, waving a little.

Mike straightened up from behind the counter and leaned over it, grinning at me. "Missed you in here last week."

I opened my mouth, hesitating.

"Right," I said slowly. "I was…sick."

Mike nodded, not looking too concerned.

"I was afraid you were going somewhere else," he said, sounding oddly relieved. "I thought maybe your hotshot doctor husband took to some high end grocery store in the city," he laughed good-naturedly.

I shook my head, then asked, "How do you know my husband is a doctor?"

Mike's grin grew wider.

"Small town, Bella," he explained. "_Everyone_ knows the Cullens."

I nodded. "Right."

"So," Mike continued. I glanced at the aisles of food, wondering how much longer he wanted to make small talk. "Why you here so early this morning? Run out of food?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much."

He seemed to sense my wandering attention, so he cleared his throat. "Okay, well, let me know if you need any help."

I thanked him and walked down the nearest aisle, grabbing a basket as I went.

I walked over to the fresh vegetables, wondering if I was brave enough to try that new vegetable stew I'd been eyeing in the recipe book. It had seemed easy, but for some reason I was oddly concerned about the meal coming out well.

As I wandered the aisles, vegetables in tow, browsing for everything else I would need to last me the week, I noticed that I was the only one in the store.

It wasn't unusual for the place to be fairly empty, but there was always at least one or two other people in the store with me. And Mike appeared to be the only person working in the town at all.

As I rounded the corner of the last aisle, I saw Mike restocking granola against the wall.

"Hey," I said, walking up to him as he turned to face me. "Why's it so dead around here today?"

"Oh," he said, looking surprised I didn't know. "Ben Cheney's getting married." I gave him a curious look, wondering why that would affect his business at all. "I think everyone who lives in this town was invited. Even I'm heading over to the reception after I close the store."

I nodded once, largely, taking in the information.

Everyone had been invited…except us. And it wasn't because we were new in town or because no one knew who we were.

_Everyone_ knew 'the Cullens'.

It suddenly struck me that maybe we _had_ been invited. It would have been weeks ago, when Edward had still been angry with me. He never would have mentioned it and wouldn't even dreamed of taking me.

I could feel my heart starting to pound as I found myself suddenly and brutally reminded of the only three weddings I had ever been to, none of which I had wanted to attend.

One had been my mother's, right after my freshman year of college. I hadn't stayed for the reception.

One of them had been my own.

And just before that…

"Is there a bathroom here, Mike?" I breathed, feeling my cheeks flush red, bile rising in my throat.

Mike showed me to the back of the store and unlocked the bathroom door for me, telling me with a wink that it was for employees only, but he would make an exception for me. I tried to smile gratefully as he took my basket of groceries from me, saying that he would ring everything up while I was in there.

I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. I walked over to the sink and turned the tap on, splashing my face with water. I glanced down at the toilet, remembering how cold the porcelain was as I sat on it, motionless…

I heard the front door of my apartment open and close, the jingling of keys as Edward entered and called out for me. I somehow managed to tell him where I was and that I would be out in a minute. I was relieved to find that my voice still worked.

Nearly twenty minutes passed and I still hadn't moved.

I heard a light knock on the door, and then Edward's concerned voice. "Bella? You alright in there?"

I didn't respond.

"Bella?" I heard again.

Then the door was being pushed open slowly and Edward stuck his head in, looking extremely worried. When he saw me, sitting rigidly on the toilet seat, he shoved the door to the side and walked in.

I saw him open his mouth to say something, but he stopped when his eyes fell to my hand clenched tightly into a fist, wrapped around small, white plastic.

"Bella?" he said again, his voice gentle and imploring. He took a tentative step towards me. "What is that?"

I didn't respond.

He closed the distance between us with painfully slow movements, as if I was about to freak out at any moment. He knelt down in front of me, his hand reaching out to wrap around my fist. His skin, usually warm and soothing, was too hot and uncomfortable. Still, I fought the urge to yank away. Instead, I relaxed my hand as he gently urged me to loosen my grip with soft fingers.

The plastic fell into his open palm and he looked down at it, his eyes wide.

"Are you sure?" he breathed quietly. Then he was looking up at me, his eyes begging for something that I didn't understand.

I dragged my eyes over to the sink pointedly. He stood up, walking over to follow my gaze. He looked down, his eyes widening again as he took in the seven identical plastic strips laying haphazardly in a bed of porcelain.

At long last, he turned back to me.

"A baby?" His voice was so quiet. "_Really_?"

I could see it. I could see the hope slowly creeping into his eyes. I could see his mind working quickly, imagining up ways to use this, to trap me, to force me into staying with him. Worst of all, I could see the happiness building. The _elation_.

It made me want to throw up.

"I have to go," I said quickly, lurching to my feet suddenly and walking out of the bathroom without looking back at him.

I heard him stumbling behind me, trying to keep up. "Go? Go where?"

I ignored his question, walking over to my closet and yanking the door open. Standing in front of all my clothes, I dragged my shirt over my head, slid my pants down my legs. I could feel Edward's eyes burning into me, but I knew it wasn't lust this time.

"Bella, talk to me," Edward implored, sounding nervous.

I didn't answer him or even acknowledge he'd said anything. Instead, I reached out and grabbed at the blue fabric in the back of my closet, near the wall. I took out the beautiful dress, throwing the hanger onto the floor behind me as I slid the zipper down and pulled it over my head.

"The wedding?" I heard Edward gasp behind me. "You're going to the _wedding_?"

I felt a surge on annoyance at the accusation in his voice.

He continued, "We said we wouldn't go."

I glanced at him briefly with angry eyes. "No one's making _you_ go."

Edward wasn't deterred. He shook his head and stepped towards me, his voice earnest. "Bella, we talked about this. It's only going to hurt you."

I sighed in irritation. "Things are a little different now."

"Different? Different how?" Edward asked, his voice demanding and afraid. "Different with Jacob? Why?" He took a deep breath before hissing, "Because you can make him jealous now?"

I breezed past him in search for my shoes. "Don't be so ridiculous."

"No really," he said, following me as his voice grew a little louder. "Is it so you can tell him how much faster you've gotten over him? So you can show him up at his own wedding? You think this is some kind of _contest_?"

I turned to face him then, my eyes flashing and my cheeks burning. "Oh, are you suddenly feeling _so _used? Don't even try it, Edward," I scoffed, my voice harsh. "You went into this with your eyes open."

"That's not the point," Edward shook his head. "We need to _talk_ about this."

"We really don't," I said, rolling my eyes and storming back into the bathroom.

I gathered up all the pregnancy tests out of the sink and threw them into the trashcan so I would have room to fix my hair and put on make up.

"Bella," Edward said from behind me. I could see him in the mirror, standing in the doorway watching me, his hand clutched around that last test like it would save him. "I _know_ you didn't want to start anything with me, I _know_ you just wanted a quick fuck and someone to hold you after. But this is _real_ now and you can't just ignore it and pretend it's nothing but a means to an end." He paused to take a breath, then added, his voice harsher than I'd ever heard it, "This isn't a _game_, Bella."

I turned around and walked over to him. I could see him fighting the urge to back away from me as I leaned in close. "No, it's not," I agreed.

I brushed past him, pushing my shoulder into his chest and feeling him yield to me, making room for me to get away.

"Then stay with me," Edward said, still following me. His voice was gentle now. "Let's figure everything out. I know you're scared right now, but I really think we need to just–"

"It's not yours," I snapped.

There was silence.

I looked up at Edward as I slipped on my pumps. He was standing, his body still, blinking back at me. I wasn't sure he was breathing.

"So?"

I stood, grabbing my purse. "So? _So_? So you're not fucking _involved_, Edward."

I watched realization wash over his features.

"You're going to…" he whispered, his voice fading as he began to understand.

I knew he had wanted to use this child to tie me to him. Well, I had had a similar idea.

We were ruthless, both of us.

At last, Edward seemed to snap out of whatever shock he was in. He walked over to my closet and pulled out one of the ties that I used as a belt. He wrapped it around his neck and began to tighten it.

I stormed over to him and batted his hands away from the material, pulling it away from him. "What are you _doing_?"

"I'm going with you," he said simply.

I coughed in amazement. "No, you're _not_."

"Why?" Edward's demand was quieter now. His voice was agonized. "What do you think is going to happen, Bella? You think he's going to walk away from Renesmee? You think he's going to take you back and make everything alright again?"

"Why wouldn't he?" I shot back." He still loves me. He hasn't had enough time to stop." Then I shrugged, "And he just 'walked away' from me, didn't he? Just like that? He'll do it again."

Edward barked a laugh of disgust. "And that makes you _want_ him?"

"I'm carrying his child!" I cried, shocked at how loud I shrieked it.

Edward flinched at my words before dragging his eyes up to me in defeat, unable to say anything in response. I could see his entire face hardening and he walked over to my bedside table. He placed the little, white plastic onto the wood, his hand covering it for a moment before dropping back down to his side.

Without turning to look at me, he whispered, "He won't leave her."

I felt my face flush as my heart started to pound. I wouldn't allow myself to even think about that. I tossed my hair defiantly, the gesture wasted since Edward's back was to me. I turned on my heel and made my way to the front door.

"I guess we'll find out."

I heard a knock on the bathroom door and I was suddenly back in the store.

I could hear Mike calling my name curiously and I assured him I would be right out.

I slid open the latch and calmly made my way over to the register where he had everything bagged up and ready to go. I handed him my credit card and he smiled at me kindly as he ran it through and asked me to sign.

"You need some help with this stuff?" he offered, motioning to the bags.

"That'd be great, thanks," I nodded, even though I didn't really need help.

He grabbed four of the bags before I could protest, leaving me with the remaining two. I followed him outside and he glanced around curiously.

"Where's the hubby?" he wondered, his eyes falling on me in confusion.

"Not here," I shrugged, as if that was normal.

"Oh."

"Yeah," I said, and made my way over to the truck.

Mike followed along behind me. "So where's…?" he started to ask. He stopped when he saw me unlock my door. "Whoa. New car?"

"Yeah."

Mike laughed and looked the truck over, eyebrows raised. "That Cullen sure does spoil you," he joked with a smile.

"Yeah," I said, my voice short. "He does."

I wasn't sure why I felt suddenly defensive of the car and of Edward, but I couldn't help glaring at Mike with disapproval. Mike saw my expression and immediately started backtracking.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I just meant that I know the family has a lot of money and so…" He stopped, apologized again. "Sorry. I guess with him not getting paid as much recently it would make sense…" He trailed off, knowing he was getting nowhere.

I felt my own eyebrows lift at his comment, unsure of what he meant and not knowing how to ask him about it.

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded, feigning more annoyance than I felt.

Why would Edward be getting paid less?

"No, nothing," Mike assured me nervously. "Just, I know he hasn't been working as much because Felix said…" Another pause before, "Listen I'm just digging myself deeper and deeper aren't I?"

_Not working as much?_

I sighed. "It's fine, Mike."

Mike looked grateful for the out and handed me my bags. I placed them onto the passenger seat and along the floor before closing the door.

When I turned back around Mike was still looking repentant.

"Well, I guess I'll see you next week?" he said, his tone making it sound like a question.

"I guess so," I agreed with a shrug.

I walked around to the other side of the truck and slid into the cab. Mike gave me a tentative wave as he headed into the store. I waved back. I shifted the truck into reverse and pumped at the clutch twice before backing out onto the street.

My mind was a flurry of questions, the most pressing being what Mike could have possibly meant by Edward was working less. Unless he was just referring to recently, after our fight, when Edward seemed to miraculously be around most days, I couldn't think of a single day he'd been home before six. And something about the way Mike had said it made me think that he wasn't just talking about the past few weeks.

I tried to imagine what he could be doing, who he could be seeing, what could be keeping him away. And it hit me suddenly that it didn't matter. Could be anything. His motivations were all that mattered, and they were clear. He wanted to be away from me.

I wondered suddenly if he was at Ben Cheney's wedding today.

I made it about halfway home before I felt violent shudders and waves of sobs start to take me over. I gripped the steering wheel hard, struggling to breathe as tears began to pour down my face, my whole body tensing and shaking with the movement. I felt irrational and foolish for crying over the memory of something that happened years ago, and my frustration with myself only made me cry harder.

The road began to blur in my vision and I hit the breaks hard, swerving off the pavement. There wasn't a breakdown lane, but the land was so flat and even next to the street that it didn't really matter.

I grabbed at the metal handle and shoved the door open, stumbling out onto the road before walking over to the other side of the truck, leaning against the hood as I struggled for control. I couldn't catch my breath.

The more time I spent out here, the more perspective I was beginning to gain on my life. The only problem was that my life hadn't been a nice one.

All I could think about was Edward's face. Edward now, Edward then. The betrayal, anger, hurt, love. And the indisputable, undeniable fact that he was still here. Even though I didn't deserve it, even though most of the time I didn't want it, he was still here for me.

He still wanted to fix the leaky roof.

I couldn't be afraid anymore. I couldn't be scared of being alone or standing on my feet or wanting things. I owed him more than that. I owed myself more than that.

Maybe I didn't deserve to have a happy life, but I would try forever to _earn _one.

Finally, I climbed back into the truck, wiping at my wet cheeks and sniffing as I struggled to keep my tenuous hold on control. I slammed the door shut behind me and lowered the e-brake with a shaky breath.

There was no one else on the road to witness, and I was able to pull back into the pavement easily.

Tears continued to track silently down my face, curling under my jaw and sliding down my neck. I didn't reach to stop them. I drove slow and carefully all the way to the driveway of the ranch house, pulling in with reluctance.

It had been two days and I was already a wreck, so trapped in my own head that I couldn't even take a trip to the grocery store by myself without having a breakdown.

I parked the truck close to the porch steps and turned it off. I sat for several moments, clutching at the wheel and staring out at the cracked, peeling paint on the banisters. I took a ragged breath and closed my eyes, resting my head gently against the steering wheel in defeat, exhausted from crying.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, eyes closed, listening to my own breathing as it slowed and calmed. I could feel my tears drying in salty veins on my skin, stiff and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tap on the glass of my window.

My eyes shot open and my head flew up, my entire body jerking violently in shock. I whipped around, mouth open, my grip on the wheel turned bruising in fear as my heart stopped and then started to pound loudly.

Standing next to my truck, dressed in an old, light grey jacket and jeans, hair messed and wild, was Edward.

He was smiling at me tentatively, his expression slightly amused at my shock.

I could see him slowly take in my haggard appearance, his smile fading into a concerned frown. His brow furrowed as he looked at me, and I could see the wheels in his head immediately begin to turn, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Still looking at me curiously - his eyes filled with worry - he gave me a little half-hearted wave.

I stayed completely still, feeling suddenly paralyzed by guilt and shock and relief. He held my gaze for what seemed like forever before his hand was reaching out. Before it registered what he was doing, I heard the click of the handle as he opened my door.

Without saying a word, he held out his hand.


	24. The Leak

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Big thank you to **ineedyoursway**. Why? Because she's really cool. And to anyone else who actually _helped_ me with this chapter instead of just distracting me...I've been ordered not to thank you in this Author's Note, because this is _her_ Author's Note.

* * *

**The Leak**

I didn't hesitate when I grabbed Edward's hand.

There was no thought process, no deliberation, no indecisive pause. My left hand released the steering wheel and slid onto his open palm within seconds, my fingers wrapping around his and squeezing tightly. I could still feel the surprise, manifesting in a need to assure myself that he was really standing there in front of me.

There was a flash of something across his face, something that looked like confusion, as he slowly closed his own fingers. Still, he wasn't tentative. His grip was firm, his skin was warm and comforting and definitely real.

He took a small step back, making room for me to slide out of the cab. When I was on my feet, I released his hand with as much immediacy as when I had seized it. Edward didn't seem to notice, his hand falling back to his side as he studied my face intently.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his gaze searching.

I knew he could see my red eyes and the tear tracks down my cheeks and he knew that I had been crying. There was really no point in trying to hide it, trying to deny it, or trying to make up excuses.

"Nothing," I replied, automatically.

Again, it wasn't a decision. It was a reflex.

There really _was_ nothing that I could tell him.

What was wrong?

_I'm tired. I feel useless. I hate what I've done to you. I hate that you hate me. I had hoped you wouldn't be here today. I'm happy that you are._

I could feel Edward's gaze on me as I stood in front of him, puffy-eyed and sniffing, denying that anything was wrong. I knew he wouldn't push it, wouldn't ask again. I wasn't sure _how_ I knew, but there was understanding in the silence he held.

Finally, when I felt like I was able to, I lifted my head and kept my voice casual as I asked, "How long have you been waiting here?"

Edward shrugged. "Not long." He glanced over at his car, parked on the other side of the drive. I hadn't even noticed it when I had pulled up. Then he was looking back at me, then the truck. "Where did you go?"

"Oh," I said, turning around and looking to the passenger seat and pointing at it in explanation. "Grocery shopping."

He nodded. "Want help bringing them in?"

"Sure."

We walked around to the other side of the car and I opened the door. I handed him three of the bags, taking the other three myself and closing the door with my foot. I kicked a little too hard and it slammed loudly. Edward smiled a little when I gave him an embarrassed look.

As we walked up the porch steps carrying the bags, Edward spoke up from behind me. "So, how's the truck?" he wanted to know.

I smiled to myself as I led him into the hall. "It's perfect."

"Really?" Edward's voice was teasing, but he sounded genuinely surprised. "Seems pretty old, ugly and loud to me."

"Hey," I said defensively, placing my bags down on the counter. "You were the one who bought it."

Edward placed the remaining groceries on the counter beside mine. "I did no such thing. It was actually given to me by some old family friends."

"Oh really?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up. "Who?"

"Just a family I know that lives a little closer to town," Edward replied vaguely. I didn't think it was deliberate. He seemed distracted as he started to pull various vegetables out of one of his bags, looking at the strange assortment curiously.

"Does this family have a _name_?" I prodded.

"Why?" Edward replied, smirking at me a little. "Do you want to call and thank them?"

"Well, I could if I wanted," I said proudly, motioning to the phone. "Really, I just want to know what kind of family could have possibly convinced _you_ to take an old, rusty heap for free. It's _very_ not like you. They must have been awfully convincing."

"Hardly," Edward said with a little shrug, looking away from me. "I just figured it would be best if you didn't have to…owe me for it."

I opened my mouth to reply and shut it again several times, an unexpected rush of gratitude rendering me speechless.

Edward moved around me, clearing his throat awkwardly, placing cans in the cabinets and feigning unawareness as I watched him.

At long last, I decided to break the silence.

"So," I began. "How was the rest of your week?"

"Slow," Edward said simply.

"Really?" I asked, with a slight huff. "The past three days have been like one big blur for me. I've hardly done _anything_ and I feel like time is moving at a million miles an hour."

The past few days without Edward had been a whirlwind of extreme stress and extreme comfort. When I wasn't terrified of my new situation, I was enjoying it immensely. No matter what I was doing, whether I was cooking or doing dishes or cleaning or mucking stalls or talking to Alice or lazing around staring at the walls, I was never bored.

"You're okay, then?" Edward inferred, turning back to look at me.

I nodded sincerely. "I think so."

"Good."

We smiled tentatively at each other before turning back to the rest of the groceries. I pulled out the milk and brought it over to the refrigerator while Edward delved into the fruit.

"What's this?" I heard him ask from behind me.

I closed the refrigerator door and turned around to look at what he was holding out, curious at what he could be asking about. I was pretty sure I had only bought apples and pears.

My eyes widened when I saw him holding a long stemmed red flower towards me, his brow furrowed.

I stifled a laugh, taking it from him. "Mike must've thrown that in." Then, at the look of disdain on Edward's face, I assured him, "I swear, I would _never_ buy myself a flower. Especially not a rose." I sniffed it. "A…fake rose."

Edward's smile looked forced. "Mike was working today?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Why?"

I didn't think it was unusual for him to be working on a Saturday.

"Nothing," Edward replied, shaking his head. "I'm just surprised he wasn't at the wedding. I thought he and Ben were really close."

"He said he was going to the reception after he closed up the store," I explained, tossing the flower back onto the counter.

I hated roses.

I didn't like the smell of them, their delicate layered shape, or what they represented. In singles or dozens, they made girls blush and swoon and hike up their skirts, all in the name of love and soft petals. The only thing I appreciated about them was their thorns. Sharp and defensive, little pricks of blood that meant they belonged in the ground rather than in some clichéd bouquet.

Fake roses didn't even have fake thorns.

What a waste.

Handing Edward the eggs, I gathered up the paper bags quickly to throw into the trash. As he walked to the other side of the kitchen, I asked, trying to sound casual, "Were you invited to the wedding?"

There was a short pause before I heard his answer.

"The family was," he said, diplomatically. "My mom, Rosalie, Emmett…they're all there now."

"And why didn't _you_ go?" I inquired, glancing over at him.

He closed the refrigerator and turned to face me. "I don't really know Ben that well," he explained easily. "And I don't know his new wife at all. She's not from around here."

"Are you sure?"

Edward looked confused. "Am I sure I don't know her?"

"No," I shook my head, folding my arms across my chest. "Are you sure that's the reason you didn't want to go?"

"What other reason could I have?" he inquired, curious.

"I don't know," I said with a wave of my hand.

Edward raised his eyebrows, waiting.

I took a deep breath. "Well, I mean, wouldn't it be a little awkward showing up alone to a wedding in a town where _everyone_ knows you're married?"

"What are you implying?" Edward's voice was suddenly sharp.

I leveled my gaze on him. "I didn't think I was _implying_ anything. I'm pretty sure I just asked a fairly straightforward question."

"No, it wouldn't have been awkward," Edward answered without hesitation.

I began to protest. "But…"

Edward cut me off.

"If I had _wanted_ to go to that wedding," he said simply, his voice unconcerned, "I would have asked you to come with me."

I blinked at him for a moment, my heart skipping a beat.

"And if I had said no?" I asked, my voice quieter.

He knew what I was asking.

_Would you have gone alone? Would you have been ashamed of what we are? Would you have been afraid to admit what we had become? Would you have come here instead, to hide from everyone?_

Edward looked me dead in the eye when he replied, "I don't really care what the people in this town think."

I stared back at him, in awe.

He seemed to grow uncomfortable under my stare and coughed a little. "So," he said, nodding his head towards the stairs. "Do you want to show me that leak?"

"Oh!" I said, shaking my head. "Yeah. Sure."

Even though I had told him it was in his room, he still let me lead him up the stairs as if he had never been in the house before. Or as if it was _my_ house.

I wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought I'd be with Edward at my back.

I pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside. I stood by the bed as he walked in and I pointed at the wall, unable to stop the guilt from marring my face.

"I mean, it's rained here before and nothing ever leaked," I told him sadly, even though he already knew that. He walked over to the wall silently and ran his hands along the paper before looking up at the drip in the ceiling. I continued, "But as soon as the snow started melting…"

Edward nodded, as if in agreement. "The weight of it probably cracked a hole," he said, almost to himself. Then he shook his head. "This wood is so old."

"I tried to keep as much of it off the floor as I could," I told him, walking over to the towels and the salad bowl. "I knew the wood would get all warped and bumpy if it got soaked, but the stuff running down the walls I couldn't really catch with anything…"

"Yeah, the wallpaper is pretty much shot," Edward said, kneeling down to look at the floor next to the wall, the wood raised and expanded like little waves. "And I'm going to have to sand the floors down."

"If you want, _I _could strip the wallpaper…" I offered, trailing off slowly, unsure of whether or not he would want my help and how much I could actually _do_ to help.

"Sure," Edward said, looking at me kindly. "We can prime and paint the walls instead of putting new wallpaper on. Never did like the pattern much."

"You didn't pick it?" I asked.

"No way Esme would let me get away with that," Edward chuckled. "It would have been rocket ship wallpaper if I'd had _my_ way. Do you think I'd pick something this classy at nine years old?"

I thought of Edward with his ties and his shirt buttoned right up to the top and his medical degrees and books and manners…at age nine.

"Wouldn't surprise me," I smirked.

Edward rolled his eyes and straightened up, tugging at my elbow lightly. "Let's find you something to peel the paper back while I find a ladder tall enough to get to the roof."

I followed him as he walked down the stairs, heading to the back room.

"You're going to fix it?" I asked, surprised. "Just like that?"

"Well, I've got to take a look at it first. But then, yes. Hopefully the point of me coming up to fix it would be to actually _fix it_." Edward smiled at me, his expression playfully condescending.

It was my turn to roll my eyes.

"Right."

I watched Edward dig through the closet until he emerged with what looked like an ice scraper for a car. He handed it to me with a shrug and headed outside to look for a ladder. As he walked away, I shouted after him that it wouldn't work. Without turning around, he assured me it would.

It didn't.

It was a pretty futile exercise, trying to peel the wallpaper. Some of the wet pieces slid off easily, the glue unstuck from the moisture. I peeled it off and tossed it onto the floor I had covered with more towels.

As I moved along the wall, I attempted to move furniture out of the way. It didn't really matter, though, since the rest of the wallpaper was incredibly resistant to being torn down.

I gave up after about two hours and went downstairs to start the vegetable stew. I chopped and diced quickly, pleased to be doing something I was good at. Unfortunately, the stew had to simmer and cook for several more hours, and there was nothing I could really do in the mean time.

Grudgingly, I went back upstairs.

I could hear Edward above me, walking and rustling and hammering at the roof.

With a sigh, I started clawing at the wallpaper helplessly. I found myself only able to peel the most frustratingly tiny strips possible, one at a time. I threw them down to the ground without any satisfaction, long skinny strips that weren't even a fraction of the room.

By the time Edward came back inside at around five, I hadn't even finished half of one wall.

He took one look at my progress and raised his eyebrows.

"How's it going in here?" he asked.

"Slow," I huffed, annoyed. I threw the ice scraper down on the ground and wiped my brow, turning to face him.

"I see that." He looked like he was trying to fight back a smile.

"It's harder than it looks," I snapped.

"I'm sure it is," he replied, indulgently.

"_Whatever,_ Edward," I growled, punching him lightly as I walked past him to make my way back downstairs to check on the stew. I could hear him following behind me, so I asked, "So the roof is flawlessly repaired already?"

"Actually, no. I'm going to need to make a trip to the hardware store," Edward said as he trailed after me to the kitchen. "I'll be able to come up next weekend and fix it."

I turned to look at him again, one hand on my hip, the other holding the lid to the pot, my eyebrow cocked with mock-concern. "And what exactly am I supposed to do until then?"

"I put a tarp over the cracks," Edward told me, sitting down at the kitchen table wearily. "That'll keep it from leaking. At least until I can get the materials I need."

I shrugged and turned back to the stew, tasting it to make sure it was ready. I walked over to the cabinet and grabbed two bowls. I handed them to Edward, along with spoons, and he placed them on the table in front of him.

"Wine?" I inquired.

"I'll get it," Edward agreed.

He got up from the table and walked to the pantry, grabbing a bottle of red wine off the rack. He opened it and set it down before pulling two glasses down from one of the cabinets. He poured them as I carried the pot over to the table, ladling each bowl full of the steaming hot stew.

As Edward sat back down, I saw him looking at it appreciatively. I hid my smile as I placed the pot back on the stove and took my own seat across from him.

Dinner was silent for the most part, neither of us really knowing what to say. I had the sneaking suspicion that Edward had worked up something of an appetite outside. I was sure he was better off living with his mother, who was bound to be a better cook, with so much more experience. Still, I knew he must have been hungry when he got up for seconds.

I immediately regretted not offering him lunch.

When the meal was almost over and Edward seemed to be slowing down, I finally broke the silence.

"So, the roof," I began. "If it's going to take so much time and material, why don't we just pay someone to do it?"

Edward's face snapped up to mine immediately as he swallowed the large spoonful of stew. His expression was startled, before slowly softening to curiosity.

"We _could_," he said slowly, his words hesitant. "I mean, if you don't want me around…"

I cut him off quickly with a shrug. "It just seems like a pretty large undertaking."

Edward took a sip out of his second glass of wine, his eyes fixed on me from across the table. "I'd _like_ to do it. This house is…" he trailed off. I could see him struggling behind his eyes, trying to figure out the words to explain what the house meant to him.

But I already knew. And I knew what repairing it would mean to him, too.

"It wouldn't be hard to fix," he continued. "Still, if you'd _like_ me to find someone else…"

"No, it's fine," I said abruptly. "I think you should do it."

Edward blinked. "Alright."

When he had scraped his bowl clean for the second time, I cleared the table. He offered to help me with the dishes and I said we could do it later. I was far too full to stand up any longer. I refilled both our wine glasses and we made our way out to the living room, plopping down on the couch side by side.

All the underlying tension that had been present throughout the day had disappeared, thanks to the wine that was coursing through our veins, massaging our physical exhaustion and soothing us into calm.

The silence that surrounded us was comfortable.

After a long time, I blurted out suddenly, "Are you sure?"

Edward's head was leaning against the back of the couch, his feet splayed out in front of him. I couldn't remember a time when I had seen him so relaxed.

He rolled his head to the side slowly to face me.

"Am I sure about what?" he asked, confused.

I took a deep breath before demanding, "Are you sure you're fixing the roof because you actually _want_ to?"

Edward looked away from me, his eyes gazing blankly up at the ceiling in contemplation. "This seems to be a common theme today," he remarked.

"It's just…" I stuttered, trying to figure out how to phrase it. But the wine I twirled between my fingers caused the words to spill out liberally. "It seems dangerous and possibly difficult and do you really know how to fix a _roof_? I mean, really Edward, it's a lot for one person to…"

"Hey," Edward cut me off, his hand falling on my shoulder. I didn't jump at the contact, but my mouth snapped shut at the sudden warmth that radiated from his fingers. I turned to him to find his eyes on mine already, staring back at me earnestly. "Why do you think I'm lying to you?"

"I don't," I disagreed. Then, off his skeptical look, I amended, "Not _exactly_."

"What's going on?" he inquired, his voice soft as his hand fell from my shoulder. I watched it land on the couch between us.

Staring at his hand, unable to meet his eyes, I replied, "I just don't want you to feel like you have to protect my feelings or be afraid I would judge you or anything ridiculous like that."

"_Judge me_? After all these years, you think that _now_ – of all times – I would be afraid of you judging me…?"

"I don't know," I said dryly, wishing he wouldn't make light of this.

"Really, Bella," Edward said, sensing my desire to speak frankly. "What's with all the questions? I know you don't really trust me but…we've talked about this, haven't we? I'm _not_ going to lie to you."

I nodded. "I believe you."

Edward leaned a little closer, trying to catch my gaze. I looked back at him reluctantly. When he was satisfied that he had my attention, he asked, "So what's going on?"

"Well," I bit my lip. "You know how I said I was talking to Mike earlier?"

"Yes." His voice and expression were remarkably neutral.

"Um, he might have mentioned something about you working a little less, so I thought maybe you wanted to do the roof yourself because we couldn't afford help." I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "But…I mean…you went to work every morning and you came home really late and so I didn't really understand what…" I trailed off, looking to Edward for answers.

He was still looking at me, but his face had hardened slightly.

"That's an interesting thing for Mike to say, considering we're not even _close_ to having a relationship that even _resembles_ being friends," Edward commented, his voice sharp. "Why would he know anything about what I do or don't do?"

"He said that some guy named Felix mentioned it to him."

"Ah," Edward nodded in understanding. "The joys of living in a small town."

"So it's true?" I felt my heart start to beat a little faster. "You're not always at work when…" I paused, then amended, "Well, you _weren't _always at work when I thought you were?"

"No," Edward confirmed simply. "I wasn't."

"Can I ask where you were?" My voice wavered a little.

Edward's eyebrows shot up. "Do you care?"

I opened and closed my mouth several times before rushing to explain, "In a very passive way where I realize I don't reserve the right to care? Yes."

Edward rolled his eyes. "You don't need to have the _right_ to care about someone."

"I didn't say I cared about _you_," I said quickly, worried about giving the wrong impression. Then I realized how it had come out. "Oh! I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Edward waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

Even though nothing about his face or posture or voice indicated that he had taken offense, I still couldn't help but feel like what I had just said had hurt him.

I didn't want to hurt him anymore.

"So…" I said, trying not to sound nervous. "So are you seeing someone else or…"

Edward's head snapped up off the couch, his eyes turning to me sharply as he placed his empty wine glass down on the floor with a loud 'clink'. "_Excuse me_?"

"I mean, I don't really…" I stuttered.

"You think I'm _cheating_ on you?" He demanded incredulously, his eyes still wide with shock and anger.

I felt my entire face flushing.

"It…I…I mean, I would understand if…"

"You would _understand_?"

I shook my head, placing my own half full glass on the floor gently before running my hands through my hair, my palms scrubbing at my eyes in agitation. "This is coming out wrong."

"Tell me, Bella," Edward replied, his voice hard. "How would it sound coming out _right_?"

"It would sound like me being curious and _very_ nonjudgmental," I hurried.

Edward barked a laugh.

"Well, that's nice of you," he said, his voice dry with sarcasm.

"How would you like it to sound?" I asked him, frustrated. "How does a wife _usually_ ask her husband if he's sleeping with another woman? Should I be angry? Insanely jealous? Irrationally suspicious? I mean, am I even your _wife_ anymore?"

Edward shrugged, leaning back on the couch, tension still prominent in every line of his body. "That's what it says on the paper."

"Look, Edward, I just want to know," I said, holding out my hands. "If you're not, I want to know. If you _are_, I want to know. I won't get mad and I won't get jealous."

"That's a great comfort to me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Will you stop being snide for one second?" I begged him. "You know as well as I do how our relationship has been these past months – hell, _years_. And if you felt that if after everything I'd done to you…"

"What is this?" Edward's eyes snapped back to me in disbelief. "Are you giving me _permission_?"

"Why are you making this so difficult?" I cried, exasperated. "I may not have the right to care, but I'm pretty sure that piece of paper means I have a right to _know_. I don't want you to get mad and I don't want you to be upset. I just want the truth. And whatever you tell me, I'll deal with…" I trailed off, unable to finish.

Edward was staring straight ahead, his hands gripping at his thighs.

"Would you be alright with it if I was sleeping with someone?" he asked me, his voice much calmer and much quieter.

I looked at him for several moments.

I knew that what I had done to him in the past, the way I had treated him, almost begged for him to tip the scales back to zero. He had desires that I couldn't meet, and I didn't deserve to hold him back from seeking gratification elsewhere. I had surrendered that right a long time ago.

Still, I could remember every moment of those days. His words and his touches blurred together. Every kiss and every climax swirled together in my mind, and I was unable to control it.

I looked at his hands, still clenching his legs. I saw the tendons in his hands, the tension in his fingers, and I imagined what they would look like gripping another woman's hair, smoothing across her skin, scratching down her back.

Would I be alright with it?

"Not even remotely."

Edward turned to look at me slowly, his hands relaxing as he sighed. It wasn't a sigh of relief or release. It was resigned.

We were quiet for a long time.

It was Edward who broke the silence first.

"Do you know the clinic where Alice works?" he asked me suddenly.

"Yes."

"I volunteer there three days a week."

My brows furrowed instantly in confusion. "Why?" I asked. Then, realizing that might have been rude, I tried to rephrase. "I mean…_why_?" I failed.

Edward took a deep breath, reaching his hand down over the armrest so he could run his finger along the rim of his empty wine glass. "Before I even started my residency, I knew which branch of medicine I would end up in. Research, experimentation, lab work. It's always been my mind…"

I nodded, agreeing. "You're a scientist."

"Science is simple," Edward explained, even though I hadn't asked. He turned to face me, his eyes unusually solemn. "It makes sense to me. There isn't doubt or ambiguity or degrees of truth. There's only reason. The reason something works or something doesn't, the cause and the effect."

"I can understand that."

"Can you?" he asked, curiously.

I nodded again. "You don't want to watch people die."

"Death is hard," he agreed and I thought of Carlisle's funeral. "But life is harder. I don't want to watch people struggle to live."

I swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"So at the clinic…?" I prodded, quietly.

"I haven't practiced primary care in six years," Edward told me. "Not since my residency. I've been shadowing Felix at the clinic, volunteering to do grunt work and relearn what I've forgotten. A sort of unofficial second residency, in my spare time."

"So you're a doctor moonlighting as a…different doctor?"

Edward smiled a little. "I suppose so."

"How long…?"

"Since we got here."

"Why?" I asked him, finding myself so incredibly lost. "What changed?"

Edward shook his head, and for a long time I thought he wasn't going to answer. I lifted my wine glass and sipped at it quietly, afraid to look away from him. He licked his lips before he turned his entire body, twisting it to face me. I turned my own body in reaction so that we were looking directly at each other.

"There wasn't one thing I ever learned in that lab," he said finally. "Even though I loved it, even though I was passionate about it, there still wasn't one thing I ever discovered or created that gave me any answers or any clarity." He paused. "And I think I finally figured out why."

I was afraid to ask.

I did anyway.

"There's no risk to it," Edward told me, his voice sad. "If I fail, I can just try again tomorrow. I don't even _think_ about the people I'm trying to help. Their tests are just names, they're not connected to a face. It's not life and it's not real and it's not truth. And I don't want that anymore."

Edward took a deep, ragged breath and turned away from me, his head falling onto the back of the couch, his eyes staring up at the ceiling again. I thought he wasn't going to say anything else.

Five minutes must have passed before I heard him whisper, "Nothing that I have _ever_ done has made my life better."

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or not.

I watched his eyes fall closed at the same time a tear slid down his cheek, reaching all the way to his chin. He didn't lift his hand to brush it away.

Wanting to give him a minute, I stood up and grabbed both of the empty wine glasses, bringing them into the kitchen and placing them in the sink.

I walked back into the living room, where Edward sat with his eyes still closed. I sat down beside him, waiting for him to notice me.

He opened his eyes and sat up slowly.

"You should stay," I smiled, my voice quiet. "You can't drive home like this."

Edward shook his head. "My mother's expecting me back tonight."

"I'll call her," I offered.

He looked at me for a long time before sighing. "Alright."

I stood up again and walked back to the kitchen. I went over to the phone and dialed Esme's number, which Alice had written down for me. I had tacked it onto a corkboard above the phone. I glanced at the clock as it rang. It was only a little after nine.

Esme didn't answer, so I left her a voicemail explaining that Edward was with me, that he had a little much to drink and was far too tired to make the trip home. I said he would call her in the morning.

I hung up the phone and stood, my hand still resting on the smooth plastic, for several moments of indecision.

I moved over to the sink and washed the dishes quickly, worrying my lip the entire time, putting off going back to Edward for as long as possible. When I dried the last pot, I folded the dishrag reluctantly.

Finally, I walked back into the living room, already talking quickly so he couldn't protest. "Listen, I didn't really use my time wisely this week, so the other bedroom is still full of junk. If you want the master bed…"

I trailed off as my eyes settled on Edward.

He was stretched across the couch, his back towards me, his breathing steady. His face appeared to be buried in a small pillow that was propped against the arm rest.

I walked up to his sleeping form slowly and stopped just before I reached the edge of the couch. I looked down at him, a smile crawling across my face at the limpness of his relaxed limbs, the quiet of his profile, the disarray of his hair made all the more noticeable by the stillness of his body.

I reached my hand out to brush my fingers through his hair, stopping them just short of contact. I could practically feel the softness under my skin and was startled at my sudden longing to touch him.

I ran my hand all the way down his body, an inch above his skin. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, warming my palm.

I went upstairs to that big, comfortable bed and didn't sleep at all.


	25. The Exchange

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry. Don't ask.

* * *

**The Exchange**

I watched the sun as it slowly started to creep into the sky, lighting up the flat landscape and glinting off the melting snow. I remained in the bed, still, and considered what I was going to do, what I was going to say.

I had been drifting in and out of consciousness the entire night. It seemed like every time I felt myself starting to fall asleep, my eyes would snap open and fly to the clock. Almost every half hour I would find myself staring at the bright numbers, willing time to move faster, praying for the sun to rise sooner.

The words he'd said kept echoing in my mind; I couldn't shut out the expression on his face or the tear tracking down his cheek. My desire to go to him, wake him and comfort him warred with my instinct to flee and seek solitude or, conversely, drive him away.

The result of these two conflicting urges was that I remained tethered to the bed, unable to make a decision, yet completely incapable of achieving sleep.

Would he regret talking to me last night, a result of exhaustion and too much wine?

Would _I_ take one look at him and wish he had never come?

Everything always looked different in the morning, and with Edward it almost always looked worse. Our relationship was darkness and denial.

Around eight o'clock, I heard the banging of pots from downstairs, causing me to jolt upright in bed. I listened to footsteps, the refrigerator door opening and closing and I felt my heart start to pound rapidly as I contemplated the inevitable – I would have to face him.

The crisp, distinct smell of bacon drifted faintly into the air. I tossed off the covers and leapt to my feet, padding quickly across the room and swinging the door open. I didn't hesitate, didn't pause to second guess myself, before I was skidding down the stairs, my socks unable to get a good grip on the polished wood of the floors. When I reached the first floor, I stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and steady my heartbeat.

With a final determined nod, I strode into the kitchen and immediately stopped short at the sight that met me.

Edward was standing at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping eggs in a small frying pan. The old black shirt he'd been wearing under his jacket was wrinkled from sleep, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms exposed. His hair was completely out of control, just as it always was when he made no attempt to tame it. I looked down to see that his feet were completely bare on the cold stone floor.

The whole picture was so remarkably domestic that I had to bite back a smile.

He was looking at the eggs in front of him with intense concentration, not even noticing that I had entered.

I took another step towards him, cocking my head, finally alerting him to my presence. "You made breakfast?" I asked him quietly.

Edward's head whipped around when he heard me, his eyes flashing with surprise. I could feel myself begin to blush as his gaze quickly trailed over my large shirt down to my shorts. I shifted uncomfortably when his eyes lingered for a moment on my bare legs, before finishing their descent to my large wool socks.

Then he was looking back at my face with a little smile.

"You made dinner," he shrugged in reply. "Have a seat."

I didn't argue.

I walked over to the table and slid into the nearest chair, watching curiously as he separated the scrambled eggs onto two plates. He divvied up the bacon next, and popped two English muffins out of the toaster.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed.

He looked over his shoulder at me for a moment, inquiring, "Do you still like ketchup on your eggs?"

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "Yeah, I do."

Nodding wordlessly, Edward grabbed the bottle of ketchup from the fridge and placed it on the table in front of me, along with the plate that was brimming with food. I grabbed a piece of bacon, taking a large bite and chewing gingerly when it burned my mouth.

He pulled out his own chair and sat down across from me, tucking into his meal eagerly. I coughed a laugh when I saw him wince, discovering as I had that it was still too hot to eat.

"How did you sleep?" I asked him, smacking at the glass of the ketchup bottle, trying to coax some onto my plate. It slid along the neck of the bottle reluctantly before landing on my eggs in a large pool.

Edward swallowed his food with some effort before replying, "Surprisingly well, actually."

It took all my restraint not to roll my eyes at him.

Of course.

He _would_ sleep soundly on the couch while I stressed and rolled around in bed all night, worried about what he had said, what I was feeling, allowing guilt to overtake me, and panicking at what would happen in the morning.

Edward was looking at his plate again, intent on shoveling his food down, seeming to be determined to eat it as quickly as possibly despite the burn.

I got to my feet and walked over to the refrigerator, pulling out the bottle of orange juice. I raised my eyebrow at Edward in silent question and he nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full. I poured two glasses and brought them over to the table.

I returned to my seat, sipping at the icy liquid gratefully.

We were silent for a while before I got up the courage to speak again. "Sorry I hadn't cleaned out the other bedroom before you got here."

Edward shrugged off my apology. "Don't worry about it. Didn't really want to sleep in Rosalie's old room anyway."

I tried not to act surprised as I took in that information.

I supposed it didn't much matter – the room that was his, the room that was his sister's – only that every insight Edward offered me to what sort of house this once was, every time he unknowingly triggered me to imagine his childhood, I felt an uncontrollable surge of curiosity.

"Well," I responded at last, feeling nervous. "I guess your room will be out of commission for a while if we're painting it. So when you come up again, if you want the master bed…"

Edward cut off my uncertain offer abruptly.

"I wasn't planning on spending the night," he stated simply. "It won't happen again."

I blinked, momentarily speechless.

The finality with which he said the words was cold. His words, his tone was similar to conversation-ending statements he had made in the past. Only, for some reason, when I had heard his response, it hadn't _seemed_ rude or angry.

It was defensive.

It gave me a sudden, sinking feeling that I had been misreading him for a long, long time.

"Oh," I said at last. "Okay. But if you ever want to…"

"The couch is very comfortable," he interrupted again, not allowing me to finish my offer.

I studied him carefully, his body tense and his expression firm. I knew by the set of his jaw and the steel of his eyes that there was no way I could argue with him in that moment. I bit my lip and looked away from him, unsure of what to say.

"Really, Bella," I heard him say quietly. My eyes dragged from my plate up to meet his. "The bed is yours now. I would never put you out because _I'm_ stupid enough to get too drunk and tired to drive safely."

I placed my fork down on my plate with a light clatter and chuckled, shaking my head and smiling at him.

The corners of his mouth twitched in response. "What?" he asked curiously.

I shrugged helplessly, holding out my hands in mock-surrender. "I don't really know what to say when you're nice to me."

Edward smirked. "Well, you could start by saying 'thank you'."

"Thank you," I repeated, still laughing a little. Slowly I let the smile fade from my face and I leaned forward, hoping that I looked genuine when I added, "Really."

"You're welcome." Edward nodded in acknowledgment.

"So," I cleared my throat, leaning back and glancing down at my breakfast in an attempt to break eye contact with him. "How long have you been up?"

"A few hours," Edward answered, resuming his vigorous eating.

"Why?" I wondered aloud.

"I really have to get back to the city."

"Oh," I said, coughing a little as I felt some English muffin get caught in my throat. I took a deep gulp of orange juice to clear it before remembering something suddenly. "Hey, did you call your mom? I left her a message last night that said you would call her in the morning."

Edward shook his head, unconcerned. "I'll call her when I head out. Give her a little more time to sleep."

I nodded and picked my fork back up, twisting it nervously on my plate but not lifting any food to my mouth. "How's she doing?"

I could feel Edward's eyes on me very suddenly as I continued to study my plate.

I hazarded a glance up to meet his gaze to find his expression thoughtful, maybe even soft, as he regarded the question.

"She's been doing quite well, considering the circumstances," he said at last.

"I'm glad," I said honestly. "And how are things over at her house?"

"Good," Edward nodded, his expression growing distant. "It's a lot smaller than this, but it's very nice. Closer to work, closer to Rose, and I feel a lot more comfortable knowing my mom's not alone."

I smiled.

"She's lucky she has you with her," I said without thinking.

Edward focused on me immediately and I dropped my eyes, feeling my entire face flush in embarrassment.

"Yeah," he whispered after a beat.

I looked back up at him slowly, not at all surprised to see his gaze was still fixed unwaveringly on me.

"Listen, Edward…" I started nervously.

"Hey Bella!" I heard suddenly, the front door slamming open and closed again. "Knock, knock!" called a loud voice.

Both Edward and I froze in shock, glancing at each other and then towards the front door. I stood up quickly, my chair scraping on the stone of the floor. Edward followed my example, the expression on his face looked as if he was about to be caught doing something wrong.

I didn't really understand the sudden burn in my cheeks when I realized the only person it could be.

"Alice?" I called the response as a question.

I could hear her small footsteps making their way towards the kitchen and she was already talking loudly and animatedly to me, even though she hadn't reached me yet.

"Hey Bella!" she called as she walked through the hallway. "I just wanted to see if you were up for hanging at the barn today, maybe working with Santana a little…" She rounded the corner into the kitchen and halted abruptly, her eyes falling immediately to the other side of the table.

"Edward," she stated, not bothering to mask her surprise.

"Hello, Alice." He nodded politely. I looked at him for a moment, long enough to see him shift uncomfortably, before I turned back to my friend.

She was still staring at my husband. "Uh…how are you?"

"Fine, thank you." He smiled, looking a little strained. "And yourself?"

She waved her hands. "I'm great. I was just…" Then she paused and looked at me, then back at him, then down at our half-eaten breakfast. "Interrupting," she finished, turning on her heel. "I'll go."

I opened my mouth to stop her, then shut it quickly. I wasn't sure if I should stop her if Edward didn't feel comfortable around her. I couldn't imagine why he wouldn't, but…

"You don't have to leave Alice." I heard Edward speak up suddenly.

Alice stopped and looked back at me for confirmation. I turned to look at Edward curiously, biting my lip.

"So, I think I'm going to get going," Edward explained with a shrug.

"Oh," I said, surprised by his sudden desire to leave. "Um…alright."

I saw him hesitate slightly at my expression even as I tried to look neutral. I wasn't sure exactly what emotion was written across my face because I wasn't sure exactly how I felt.

"Unless…" he hedged uncertainly. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Nope." I answered quickly, shaking my head and planting a smile on my face. "I'm good."

"Well, I'll…uh…see you next weekend?" His confirmation came out like a question.

I could feel the awkward, stilted tension crackling around us as Alice watched our exchange silently. My cheeks continued to burn and I practically _felt_ the curiosity rolling off of her in waves.

"Sure." I nodded decidedly.

Edward granted me a small smile and excused himself politely. I gave Alice a look as I passed her, following him to the door. He pulled on his jacket and boots silently as I stood beside him, wringing my hands together.

When he walked out to the porch and down the stairs to his car, I didn't follow.

I turned back to the kitchen when I heard the engine of his car roar to life. I walked through the hall slowly, feeling an odd sense of dread settle in my stomach at the idea of facing Alice.

Stepping into the kitchen, I found Alice standing at the stove, picking cold bacon off the pan and popping it into her mouth. She licked her fingers when she heard me enter, turning around to face me.

"So…?" she prompted slowly, lifting her eyebrows expectantly.

I shook my head and picked up the unfinished plates from the table, feeling my hackles rise at her obvious interest. "Not what it looked like."

"What did it look like?" Alice prompted me with a smirk.

"I don't know," I said, dropping the dishes in the sink and turning the water on. "Not what it was."

"And what was it?" she wanted to know.

"Breakfast," I told her dryly.

"Well, that sure was what it looked like."

"Good."

I scraped the cold, rubbery eggs into the trash before holding the plates under the hot water and grabbing a sponge to scrub them with. The water burned my hands, making my skin turn red and sore, but I ignored the pain.

Alice walked over to my right side and took the clean plates out of my hands, grabbing a dishtowel to dry them and stack them neatly on the counter.

"So, what was he doing up here?" Alice asked after a moment of silence.

"There's a leak in the roof," I said, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to be intently focused on drying a fork, so I continued. "He came up yesterday to take a look."

"And stayed the night?" Her question was innocent, but I couldn't help hearing the underlying implication.

"It got late," I said, my tone defensive, effectively closing the subject.

"I see." Alice let it drop.

I knew it was completely irrational to be getting annoyed with Alice.

After all, everything she knew about Edward and I was that we detested each other, the he kicked me out of the house, that we fought and yelled and cried and lived in different towns. We were mysterious and volatile in her eyes. I couldn't really blame her for her confused inquiries, especially after walking into a house brimming with awkwardness rivaled any morning-after tension.

I knew she was only asking because she cared about me.

_Or Edward_.

Suddenly the thought struck me that she volunteered in the same place where Edward spent several of his weekdays. I had no idea what kind of working relationship they had, whether they were friends or not, but it certainly forced me to view her friendship in a different light. Maybe she talked and laughed and joked with Edward the same way she did with me.

"So, the leak?" Alice prompted, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Is it bad?"

"It's only in one room so…I don't think so," I told her as I put the ketchup back in the fridge. "But we're going to have to strip all the wallpaper and repaint."

"That sucks," Alice nodded sympathetically. "Want me to ask Jasper if he'll take a look at the roof? He wouldn't charge you or anything."

I remembered Edward's expression when I had suggested we hire help.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think Edward really wants to fix it himself," I said with a shrug, as if it was no big deal. "This house is pretty sentimental to him."

"I bet it is." Alice was smirking again.

"Did you want something?" I sighed, crossing my arms as I – once again – changed the subject.

"Well, I _wanted_ to see if you were up for mucking stalls," she started, a grin creeping across her face. "But now I'm thinking a little payback is in order…"

I felt my heart skip a beat. "What do you mean?"

"You help me with the horses," she explained. "And I'll help you strip the wallpaper."

I dropped my arms from my chest and felt my brow furrow in confusion at her proposal.

"I'd help you anyway," I told her honestly.

"I know that." It was Alice's turn to roll her eyes. "But this is how the world works. Got to be fair about it."

I looked at her in gratitude, feeling a smile starting to tug at the corners of my mouth.

"Deal."

The next few days were some of the best I could remember in a long time.

All week Alice and I were flighty and impulsive, bouncing from one house to the other, running wild over the hills like children. The weather was finally starting to warm, the snow melting and turning the ground to sloshy mud. Alice introduced me to the simple joys of sinkholes and I rediscovered my affinity for splashing through puddles – something I hadn't done since I was a child in Forks.

I would help Alice with the horses in the morning and the afternoon. In the hours between, we would work on stripping the wallpaper from the cold room. When Alice realized how difficult it was, she immediately took the project to Jasper, who suggested that we pierce the paper and spray it with water and vinegar to loosen it.

Of course, it made everything about ten times easier.

On Wednesday, Alice boosted me up onto Roswell's back and we walked around the field without halters or saddles. I sat with my hands pressed firmly to his withers and moved my hips to his jerking motion, trying not to slide off into the mud. Once I felt comfortable, I was able to enjoy the height he lent me, and the power I could feel under my legs. My eyes drifted to Santana every once in a while, curious what _he_ would feel like to ride. He was so much taller than all the other horses and much more athletic. I smiled, imagining how quickly he would toss me off his back.

It was on Thursday that I found myself alone in the cold room, Alice heading into the city early to go to the clinic. I didn't ask her if Edward was working there today and I didn't offer to accompany her. Instead, I stayed and peeled the remaining wallpaper from the second wall.

It was tedious, difficult work and after several hours I collapsed on the bed with a sigh, lazily spreading my limbs across the paper-covered comforter. I ignored the crinkling of the plastic beneath me and gazed up at the ceiling for several moments. Breathing steadily in and out, I felt a swell of accomplishment begin to flow through me.

I sat up, wanting to examine my work one more time before going downstairs to fix myself some lunch.

The entire wall I had been working on was stripped clean, making half the room bare and ready for priming. I smiled to myself, thinking that maybe I could enlist Alice to help me finish it tomorrow so that I could show Edward what I had accomplished when he returned this weekend.

I stretched my aching limbs, cracking my neck and trying to rub the soreness away as I stood up. I bit my lip, glancing around at the covered floor, littered with wallpaper. It reminded me of abandoned skin of a snake. There was no way Edward would be able to sleep in this room when he came up to work on the roof, and I couldn't let him sleep on the couch again. I would have to spend tomorrow clearing out the spare room.

_Rosalie's room._

I glanced at the clock, noting that it was just after two. I sighed again, knowing that Alice wouldn't be back from the city for several more hours. I walked over to the far wall and began to pick up some of the larger strips of paper from the floor to toss out.

I made my way along the wall, gathering scraps as I went, until I hit the closet door. My brow furrowed when I noticed that some of the wood was light and worn down, from the water that had dripped from the ceiling. Setting down the paper I had collected into a pile beside me, I pursed my lips and opened the door.

I groaned loudly at the sight inside.

Practically empty of clothes, the closet's walls were dripping and peeling much worse than the walls of the rest of the room. I was sure the tarp Edward had nailed to the roof was protecting it now, but there was no way to undo the damage.

Without even thinking about it, I snatched the few shirts from the closet that Edward had left and tossed them onto the plastic-covered bed, damp and heavy.

I looked down at the boxes that were littered across the floor. Most of them seemed fairly dry along the back wall, but there was a large one right beside the door that was soaked all the way through. I eased it out from the dark of the closet, the cardboard so soggy that it tore in my hands.

I dragged it gently to the middle of the room where I had already pushed the bed, bookshelf, and dresser into a little island at the center.

I picked up the clothes from the bed and pulled them off their hangers, walking downstairs to toss them in the dryer. As I made my way back up to the room, I shook my head imagining Edward's expression when I showed him the newly discovered damage.

As soon as I walked back into the room, my eyes immediately fell to the large box I had just saved from disintegration. My fingers itched and I felt undeniable curiosity pulse through me.

Telling myself that I just wanted to check to make sure whatever was inside remained undamaged, I strode forward and dropped to my knees beside it. I fingered the edges for a moment before pulling open the top and peering in.

There were dozens of leather journals in several different colors.

I reached in eagerly and pulled one out, biting my lip. I flipped open the front cover to read the inscription on the inside.

It read:

_This is the property of Edward Anthony Cullen._

_1995-1996_

I blinked at the book uncertainly – uncertain if I should look, uncertain what I would find – for several seconds before I flipped it open to the first page.

It wasn't a normal journal. There wasn't much on the old, soggy pages that would be considered a typical entry. Mostly there were just notes and scribbles, feathery sketches of insects and animals. There were several sketches of trees.

As I flipped through the book, I began to recognize that all the trees Edward had drawn had the same large knot on their trunks. They were all drawings of one tree, at different stages in the seasons. Beside the sketches were little stories or anecdotes: creatures who lived in the tree, a strange spider he saw creeping across its bark, how he had read beneath its shady canopy for hours.

I kept turning pages rapidly, glancing at his drawings and writings with unmasked interest. I had almost made it through the entire journal when one drawing caught my eye.

This was a different tree.

Or, the same tree, only it was…_not_ the same tree.

It had been destroyed.

The entire sketch was dark and filled in, making the bark look eerie and black. The trunk was split, almost as if it had been bisected by some large, unseen force.

My eyes widened as I suddenly recognized the dead tree in the backyard, staring out at me from the pages of Edward's fifteen-year-old memories.

I squinted at the writing beneath the picture. There was more of it, and written more furiously than anything else I had seen in the book. I brushed my fingers along each line as I tried to make it out.

_Lightening strikes and destroys all. Less than a second of beauty and light and electricity renders life to ash. A father who wants to rid the yard of what no longer belongs with the living. I begged. I begged him not to cut it down. There is still life that can emerge. I have felt nothing of this sadness before, this betrayal. No reason dictates I feel this, but I do. _

_Always fact and study and reality and a tree splits open and I have never felt so much._

There was more there, but I couldn't really decipher it.

All the writing in the journal was like that: staggered notes and fragmented sentences.

He wrote as he thought.

It was very strange to think of a scientist writing the way he did. I would have imagined him – even as a teenager – writing in neat, perfect sentences. Most of what he had jotted down lacked the eccentricity of an artist, but still felt distinctly like torture of the soul. Instead of passion and love, Edward cried out with numbers and names.

Except for this one passage.

There was pain and fear and confusion screaming from every word about the charred tree. Sentences and words bleeding together, a lack of order and calm. I could see in his writing an echo of the chaos in the master bedroom, the screaming at the top of the stairs. That part of him – the intensity and the fire – that I had never seen in him before, I was seeing it now.

Swallowing audibly, I closed the journal and placed it back in the box.

I hesitated for a moment, struggling with the almost uncontrollable desire to read more.

I wanted to pick up another one of those leather journals and devour page after page. I wanted to know how far his writing would take me. All the way back to his first written words? Forward through time to the bar where we met? What would he write about _me_? Would I be calm and catalogued like the plants and insects? Would I be a burning tree?

I was practically quivering with my need to know.

But it wasn't just about me. I found myself wondering what he wrote about Esme and Carlisle and Rosalie; what he wrote about his friends and his school and his homework; what he wrote about girls he dated or his favorite songs or insects he observed. I wanted to know every little detail, every little insight, and every little thought.

And through all that need and want and insatiable curiosity, I folded the sides of the box to close it up.

There was nothing I could find in those books.

The man who had brought me to this house was different from the boy he had once been. He wasn't innocent anymore, he wasn't inquisitive and adventurous, and he wasn't a scientist. He had told me _that_ himself.

As I was about to push the box under the bed, something caught my eye.

It was wedged against the side of the box, in between the journals and the cardboard. I pulled back the top flap again, biting my lip as I realized why it looked familiar.

It was the little leather book of poetry.

It seemed like years ago that I had dug it out of the box at the kitchen table, right before I had broken Edward's lamp. I had left it on the kitchen table when I went back upstairs, leaving Edward to clean up the shards of glass and blood.

For the second time, I reached inside to pull the little book out of a box to look at it. I held it out in front of me and passed the palm of my left hand over its surface, smiling at the smooth feel of the leather.

I read the inscription on the inside again.

I held the small book in my hands, looking down at it curiously, and feeling no desire to pack it away with the rest of the journals. Those were Edward's memories, his private thoughts and fears and desires. I had no business going through them.

But this book? This book had, without a doubt, been for me.

If some part of me acknowledged that Edward had never _given_ it to me, and that he might have had a reason for not doing so, I ignored it. I wouldn't read his journals because they were for him. But this had been _created_ for me to read.

I turned the first page, pressing it down lightly as my eyes darted from line to line over the first poem Edward had transcribed into the books pages.

I found myself breathing it aloud as I read to myself.

_in spite of everything_

_which breathes and moves, since Doom_

_(with white longest hands_

_neatening each crease)_

_will smooth entirely our minds_

_before leaving my room_

_i turn, and (stooping_

_through the morning) kiss_

_this pillow, dear_

_where our heads lived and were._

"Cummings," I murmured to myself, a feeling of nostalgia washing through me like a stream of icy water. I could feel the words pounding in my skull, perfectly cadenced to the beating of my heart.

There was a date beneath it, one that made my breath catch in my chest. One that reminded me of running and tears and tender words of comfort whispered against my shoulder as I slept. It was a day where my entire world crumbled down around me and the only thing left had been Edward and I, entwined in the rubble.

Edward had written this poem, had found words the words of another to speak through, the morning after Jacob had left me.

Our relationship was darkness and denial.

I sat in the cold room, the flesh of the walls around me, clutching the book and staring down at the beautiful words until I heard the rumbling of a car coming up the driveway.


	26. The Risk

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Sorry again about the wait on this one. It ended up being a little longer than I anticipated. There might be a week or so before the next update, too. I'm currently working on a one-shot with **ineedyoursway** (go read "Fault") and I can't promise that it wouldn't consume my brain until it's written. Shouldn't take long, though. And then you'll have a nice, disgusting one-shot that'll make _this_ story look like fluffy bunnies and rainbows in comparison. Anyway, I'll keep you posted. I'm going to try and write this story simultaneously...but I can't promise anything. So I'd really like to apologize in advance if the next couple weeks are a little sketchy with updates.

Thanks to **revrag**, as always. Thanks to **AmyZini**, even though you make me cry real tears. The clarity and structure is all yours, you hound. You think I'm sending you three drafts? You're drunk.

If you've recommended this story, written a review, seen it recommended or reviewed, heard about it from a friend or a family member or a stranger off the streets, let me know. I can't thank you enough.

* * *

**The Risk**

"Emmett?"

I stood on the porch, the warm breeze whipping around my body, teasing my hair and ruffling my clothes as I watched my big brother-in-law slam the door to his truck.

He turned to look up at me with a wide smile. "Hey, Bella!" He was wearing ratty old jeans and a paint-splattered t-shirt, arms giant and strong, completely exposed to the chilly spring air. He didn't seem to notice the cold at all as he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing before me.

I smiled at him weakly, a little confused. "Hi?"

Chuckling at my expression, Emmett pulled me into an enthusiastic hug. I automatically stiffened, my back bending under the crushing weight of his body pressed against mine.

"What are you doing here?" I gasped.

I felt the rumbling of a chuckle in Emmett's chest.

"Good to see you, too," he remarked, his voice playfully sarcastically. He pulled away, resting his hands on my shoulders as he leaned back to look at me. "You know, I really missed your warm, receptive personality."

"It's good to see you, of course," I said truthfully, with a slight flush.

Emmett shook his head. "I'm teasing," he assured me, giving my shoulders a light squeeze before releasing me.

I smiled at him after a brief hesitation.

"Want to come in?" I offered awkwardly, motioning to the front door.

"No can do," Emmett said, crossing his arms across his wide chest in mock-seriousness. The muscles in his forearms were intimidating when he flexed them. "I'm strictly on exterior duty."

My brow furrowed. "What?"

"Edward asked me to come up," Emmett explained with a shrug. "Wanted me to take some measurements for materials, give him my expert opinion on the roof."

He turned around and walked back down the porch stairs, peering up at the roof as if he would be able to assess the damage from the ground. I followed him down off the porch and followed his gaze to the roof. I couldn't see anything.

I shifted my eyes to him curiously.

"You _have_ an expert opinion?" I wondered.

Emmett smirked, shifting his view from the top of the house to look back down at me. "Not even a little bit."

I snorted lightly, smiling genuinely in response.

It was amazing how quickly I had begun to feel comfortable around Emmett. Everything about him was so perfectly easy, he didn't really seem to fit in with the rest of the Cullen family. I couldn't imagine Edward getting along with him, let alone see his severe sister marrying him. He was attractive, to be sure, but he seemed to lack a certain…intensity. Even Esme, as kind and wonderful as she was, felt everything with exaggerated passion and focus.

Emmett was just…_accepting_.

He was a couple of inches taller than Edward, his massive size making me feel incredibly small as I stood beside him. Still, his kind smile and dimpled cheeks gave him a jovial air that made me feel perfectly safe.

He didn't look at me intently or tower over me the way Edward did.

"Why didn't he ask Jasper to do it?" I asked after a slight pause, turning to look back at the roof. "He owns a construction company, right?"

Emmett shot me an indignant look.

"I mean, not that you won't do a great job with the…measuring," I hedged with a grin. I shrugged and nodded my head towards the Whitlock's cabin. "Jasper just lives so close."

"Yeah, but _I_ live close to Edward," Emmett explained with a sly smile. Then he leaned towards me, his voice softening conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I'm pretty sure old Eddie wanted the report."

"The report?" I asked, one eyebrow lifting in question.

Emmett nodded. "On how you were doing."

"I saw him four days ago," I scoffed.

"Listen, it's not _my _fault he's temperamental ball of stress," Emmett told me, throwing his hands up in the air. "I find it's better not to ask questions…"

He trailed off and looked back at the roof, shaking his head and smirking slightly. I watched him for a moment, curious.

Finally, I asked, "Why didn't he just come up himself?"

"Work." Emmett shrugged easily.

"And _you_ don't need to work?"

Emmett looked back at me and smiled. "I didn't have anything going on this morning."

"Well, thanks," I muttered, my face flaming. "It was really nice of you to drive all this way."

Emmett waved his hand impatiently. "Oh, I didn't just do it for him. I _wanted_ to see you." He grinned at me widely. "Feels like you haven't been down to the city for a visit in forever."

"I was in the city a couple weeks ago, but only for a few hours," I remembered out loud, thinking of my trip into Colorado Springs with Alice. Then I smiled in apology. "Sorry I missed you."

"Oh, right." Emmett nodded slowly, also remembering. "Esme told me she was going out to lunch with you." I followed him as he walked the few steps back to his truck and opened up the cab. "How'd that go?"

"It was lovely," I told him, watching as he grabbed a roll of measuring tape, a level, and a protractor from the passenger seat.

"Esme _is_ the loveliest," Emmett agreed as he closed the car door again, turning back to me with a smile. "So," he said, glancing around. "You got a ladder stashed here somewhere?"

"Oh." I blinked. "Yeah. Sure."

I lead Emmett over to the back side of the house where Edward had left the ladder, leaning horizontally across the foundation. We passed the dead tree as we walked, trunk split by lightening, bark blackened and smoothed by fire. I felt a slight twist in my stomach.

In an attempt to distract myself, I grabbed the large ladder and lifted it from the ground.

It wobbled a little in my grip until I had the two ends balanced. When I was sure I had it steady and that I could carry it with ease, I headed back around.

Emmett trailed after me quietly.

When I reached the side of the house that was just below the cold room, I propped the ladder up so that the top rung rested against the edge of the roof.

"It's there," I told Emmett, turning to face him and pointing up the ladder. "See where the tarp is?"

Nodding, his eyes followed my finger. "Got it."

He shifted his grip so that he held everything in one of his massive hands before he started to climb. I held the ladder steady at the bottom, watching his assent nervously. I breathed a sigh of relief when he swung his leg over the top and stepped onto the flat part of the roof.

When I was sure he was safe, I hesitated, wondering if I should stay outside in case he needed anything. Before I had moved an inch, Emmett's face appeared over the side of the roof, staring down at me with an encouraging smile.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked me, curious and friendly.

My mouth dropped open slightly. "Up _there_?"

"Well, I'm going need a little help," Emmett shrugged before narrowing his eyes slightly, a wicked grin dancing across his features. "I'm not as skilled as, say, _Jasper_."

I could feel myself blushing once again as I crossed my arms. "You _know_ I didn't mean it like that."

Emmett laughed at my embarrassment. "Come on, Bella. Get your ass up here."

I looked up at him for several seconds, waiting for him to back down or change his mind. He simply stared back at me with that stupid, enticing smile.

I placed one of my hands on the first rung in front of me, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal tightly.

Swallowing audibly, I ventured, "Isn't this a little…dangerous?" I looked up to Emmett for confirmation.

"Nope," he shook his head and grabbed onto the top sides of the ladder. "I've got you."

I licked my lips, feeling an intense fear and dread pulsing through me.

I was so used to this: feeling terror in everything that I did. Every time I considered taking a risk, every time I thought about putting myself in harm's way, my entire being – body and mind – seemed to lock down in panic.

I was done with it.

"I have to warn you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I grabbed one rung higher with my other hand. "I am _extremely_ prone to accidents."

"Bella?" I heard Emmett say from above me. I tore my glance away from my white-knuckled hands to look up at him. "_Now_."

I took a deep, steadying breath at the firm confidence in his voice and began to climb. I concentrated on moving one limb at a time. Hand, hand. Foot, foot. Hand, hand, foot, foot. With each movement I took a breath. I didn't look down to the ground below me and I didn't look up to Emmett.

I was surprised when suddenly there were two large hands gripping the ladder beside me. I looked up to see Emmett's face close to mine, staring back at me with a toothy grin.

"See?" He said, releasing one side of the ladder to take my hand and help me onto the roof. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head, my voice quivering with sarcasm. "Not at all nerve-wracking."

"There you go." Emmett laughed loudly and squeezed my shoulders, pressing me up to his side.

It was such a foreign gesture to me, one that I found distinctly comforting. I didn't think it was only because I hadn't had any physical contact with anyone for so long, although that was certainly true. It had more to do with the fact that every time he put his arm on my shoulder, every time I felt the warmth of his side pressed against mine, I almost felt like I had family.

He could have been my brother.

When he let go of me again and moved over to the tarp, I stood still for a moment, glancing around warily but avoiding looking over the edge. Most of the snow and ice had melted from the roof, and I was sure that the leaking would stop soon.

"So," I began, proud of how calm I sounded. "Is this a habit of yours?"

"What?" Emmett asked, lifting the tarp slightly to look underneath.

"Inviting terrified girls onto roofs to do exceedingly dangerous things," I elaborated as I made my way over to him.

He looked up at me from his crouch with a smirk. "You think this is dangerous?"

"I have my suspicions."

"Come on, Bella," he chuckled. "Lighten up. A little risk can be fun. That's what makes life worth living, right?"

I rolled my eyes and knelt down beside him, looking at the tarp he was holding. "I would hardly call falling off a roof onto concrete and an agonizing death a '_little_' risk."

Emmett looked at me carefully for a moment before smiling again and shaking his head. "I was anchoring you the whole time," he said, his eyes moving back down to the roof. "I would never let you fall."

I looked up at his reassuring words, my heart catching in my throat.

My eyes traveled over him silently as he made his way over to the opposite side of the tarp to look at the other side. There was such a kindness about him – in his words and in his eyes. There was a strength and comfort in his physical presence and a heart that beat with compassion. He had accepted me, had liked me, before he even really knew me. Maybe he was just as misguided as the rest of them, but I almost felt like his good opinion was unconditional and unalterable.

Even as I felt myself easing into a sense of security around him, my mind cried out in warning. Everything he did, every word he spoke in an effort to make me _feel_ safe was just one more reason why I shouldn't.

I had only trusted one person in my life; had only ever believed in one thing.

"Yeah," I whispered in response to his statement, unable to allow myself to believe him.

No matter what, I would always fall.

I could go back to that day – to the last climb, the last leap of faith, the last risk I ever took – and I could watch it happen over and over a million times.

It always ended the same way.

I turned my eyes slowly and allowed them to fall to the edge of the roof and beyond, to the concrete below. My heart leapt a little in fear, but it was nothing. It didn't seem so far down, didn't seem so frightening. I had been much more afraid when my feet had been solid on the ground, standing outside the restaurant where a wedding reception was being held.

After leaving Edward alone in the apartment, I had driven myself to the place where I knew they would be. Where I knew _he_ would be. I stood silently for several minutes, just peering in the windows as an outsider, momentarily unable to breach the distance.

Everything about their wedding had been so modest, so rushed. It was simple and small and unassuming. I wanted to resent them their laziness, their desperation, their settling.

But I couldn't.

I could only resent them their love.

I opened the door to the restaurant, my jaw tight and determined. Immediately I was scanning the large, rowdy group of people who now occupied the entire place. I was looking for copper skin and black hair in a sea of the same. His entire family was there.

As I stepped forward into the room, a couple people glanced at me before doing a double take. Embry's jaw dropped, Quil's eyes widened and he started whispering quickly to Sam. Even Leah – cold, jilted Leah – looked slightly stunned. I walked past them, ignoring their stares pointedly, and making my way towards the banquet table at the center of the restaurant.

"Bella?" I heard a quiet, timid voice at my side. "Bella, what are you doing here?"

I turned around, knowing exactly who the voice belonged to even before my eyes came to rest on the pale, beautiful red-head.

My gaze was scorching fire as it dragged down her gorgeous, white silk dress. It was understated and perfect, nothing elaborate or excessive. She didn't need anything complex and flourished; she was a vision. I could feel the heat building in my cheeks – the heat of anger and embarrassment and jealousy – as I recognized in her a flawless beauty, unmarred by blemish or age or malice.

Finally, I composed myself enough to be able to speak. "What do you mean what am I doing here? I was invited, wasn't I?" I hissed, before turning away from her to scan the room again. "Where's Jacob?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea…" Her voice was still quiet, her gaze fixed earnestly on me.

I whipped back around to face her, spitting venom. "When did I ever ask you what you thought?"

With that, I made to move away from her, further into the room. With a graceful side-step, she remained in front of me, her eyes filled with pity as she held up her hands to stop me.

"Bella, please," she begged, her voice gentle. "You really shouldn't be here."

I ground my teeth together tightly to keep from yelling. Instead, I growled low. "_Get out of my way_."

"Bella, I'm so sorry," she pleaded, taking a step towards me. Her hands were still outstretched in my direction, coming too close for comfort. I took a step back. "Listen, why don't you and I go somewhere and talk for a little bit?"

"I have _nothing_ to say to you."

Renesmee bit her lip and nodded, her eyes filling slightly with tears. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about everything…"

I wanted to slap her.

I barked a laugh, effectively cutting her off. "Don't fucking _apologize_ to me."

She shook her head, taking another step forward, words rushing out quickly in an attempt to get me to listen. "I know there's nothing I can say that will excuse any of this. How fast this all happened, what he did to you, what _I_ did to you. But I really do love –"

"Do _not_ say that to me," I snapped, not allowing her to finish. "Don't fucking tell me how much you love him. You don't _know_ him."

"Bella…" She said my name gently, her hand rested on my arm at last.

"Let go of me!" I cried, ripping myself out of her grasp violently and turning back to the room. "He wants me here."

I began to walk away from her, hoping my body was tense enough, my anger apparent enough, that she wouldn't follow.

I didn't get more than three steps before she called after me, "He doesn't!"

I spun around to face her, my eyes narrowing.

"You're a fucking liar," I hissed. "I got the invitation. As disgusting, tasteless, and cruel as it _was_ to get the wedding invitation weeks after he left me, I still got it. He wants me here."

Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong.

As much as I hated the woman standing before me, I could plainly see there was no hint of a lie on her face. She believed she was telling the truth.

She looked terrified.

"He didn't send you an invitation," she said, at last.

"What?"

Renesmee bit her lip and angled her head down to the floor, looking up at me with more fear and remorse than I had ever seen in my life.

"I did," she said simply.

"_Excuse me_?" I snapped, my voice louder than I intended it to be.

She closed the distance between us once more, and I was too shocked to move away from her this time.

She stood in front of me, inches away, and dropped her voice to a low, agonized whisper. "I just…I never thought you'd come," she told me, her voice wavering. "But, I mean, I didn't want you to hear it from someone else. And it was all happening so quickly, I didn't want you to just wake up one morning and find out we were already married. And there's really no way to just send you a letter explaining. And I figured…"

"What? What did you _figure_?" I interrupted, my heart pounding hard in fury and fear. "That I'd be too afraid to face you? That I'd be too broken-hearted to show my face at my best friend's wedding?"

I waited for a reply that never came.

I could see her eyes widen at my description of Jacob.

Suddenly the invitation coming from her made perfect sense. To her, I was nothing more than a spurned lover; someone with no cause or reason to be so masochistic as to attend the wedding of the man I loved.

She was so fucking _young_.

"Yeah, that's right," I continued, my voice sharp and bitter. "_My best friend_. You've known him for a grand total of what? Eight weeks? Well, I've known him my _entire life_." I took a deep breath. "We may have been lovers, but we were friends first. And I _know_ he would want me here."

"But…" she began, then hesitated. She glanced around the room quickly before her eyes fell back on me. "But it's so much more complicated than that."

"Yeah," I agreed, leaning my face in so that it was inches from hers, my breath washing hot and angry across her flawless skin. "Because _you_ made it more complicated. You ruined _everything_."

I watched a perfect fucking tear slide down her perfect fucking cheek.

"I know it feels like that," she said gently. Her voice was wavering and kind and it made me want to strangle her. "But, Bella, maybe you _wouldn't_ have been happy with…"

"Just shut up," I snapped.

She opened her mouth to say something else – most likely something even _more_ patronizing and naive – but then I heard my name being called from across the crowd.

"Bella?"

It was the voice I had wanted to hear.

Renesmee and I turned simultaneously to Jacob as he made his way through the crowd. I smiled slightly as I noted that his eyes were trained unwaveringly on me.

"Jake!" I called back, taking a step towards him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, his hands reaching out instinctively to grip my arms.

Heat shot out from his fingertips and my entire body shuddered with pleasure at the contact. But just as quickly as he had touched me, he dropped his hands away from my skin, his eyes snapping to the woman at my side.

Jealousy pulsed raw through me and I took a step towards him as I said forcefully, "I need to talk to you."

He looked back at me reluctantly, his face filled with confusion.

"Alright…" he said hesitantly, waiting for me to continue.

"In private," I commanded, grabbing his arm and yanking him away from Renesmee.

I didn't give him a chance to argue before I was dragging him through the reception and outside to the street. He didn't resist me, but I didn't look back to see his expression. Once we were out of the restaurant, I released his arm and turned to face him. He was standing, bewildered on the sidewalk.

"Bella, what's going on? What is this?" he demanded.

I clasped my hands together in front of me and bit my lip, trying to gather my courage, trying to recall my anger.

Part of me was so happy just to see him again, to be standing near him and to be speaking with him. It was the same part that cried out with the ache of losing him every minute of every day.

"Bella, it's done," he continued when I remained silent. "I married her. I'm _happy_." Then he sighed and began pacing back and forth in front of me, waving his hands slightly. "I know what I did to you was unforgivable, but I had to do it. I mean, I just looked at her and I _knew_. I've never been so clear about anything in my life. And I love you, but it was like I had no control over…"

"I'm pregnant."

Jacob stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he turned to look at me. His mouth was hanging open, the flood of unfinished, unwanted words immediately ceasing.

I waited, trying not to panic as he stared at me blankly, his expression unreadable. My heart was pounding in my chest and I had never been so unnerved.

I could always read him.

I stared back at his face, wiped clean of emotion, and I felt like I was staring into the eyes of a stranger. This wasn't Jacob. I _always_ knew when something was wrong, when something was right, when he was happy or sad or overjoyed or angry. I always knew, because I knew _him_.

Didn't I?

"I don't know what you want me to say," Jacob said at last.

My eyes shot up to meet his at the sound of his voice, feeling myself relax. He would comfort me now, he would tell me what I wanted to hear, he would leave her and he would love me and everything would be fine now that we were talking again.

As I waited expectantly, his brow furrowed and he asked, "Is it…?"

"Yes," I nodded, knowing what the question was before he finished asking. "It's yours."

Jacob looked at my face for several moments before he turned away quickly, as if he didn't like what he saw there.

I watched, holding my breath, as he resumed his pacing. This time there was more purpose in his stride, more energy and more anger.

"What do you think you're doing, Bella?" he suddenly cried, halting his steps and spinning to face me again. "I _just_ got married."

"What?" I stuttered, my entire face heating up.

"I can't believe you."

"Was I not supposed to tell you?" I asked him, my voice wavering slightly with shock and anger. "Is this too _inconvenient_ for you?"

Jacob barked a humorless laugh. "_Yes_, it's motherfucking inconvenient," he snapped.

My jaw dropped in shock.

The pacing resumed.

"You come here," he ranted, waving his hands. "To my _wedding reception_, where my _wife_ is waiting inside, and you…" he trailed off, appearing too angry to speak. He opened and closed his mouth several times, gulping words before he finally turned to me accusingly. "You couldn't pick up a phone?"

"Pick up a…?" I whispered in disbelief.

Jacob looked at me hard before muttering, "_Jesus Christ_." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and I could see the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

"I'm sorry I came here." I stuck my chin out defiantly, narrowing my eyes at him. "But I just thought you would want to know _now_."

Jacob shook his head and let loose an angry sigh, his entire body seeming to relax slightly on the exhale.

I watched him carefully, knowing his mind was running over everything I had just told him. His initial reaction had been lash out in fear and frustration, but I could see him softening slightly as he started to comprehend what I was telling him.

Seeing my opportunity, I took a step towards him, then another, until I was standing inches from his chest.

He looked up at me, his eyes sad now.

I reached my hand out and cupped his cheek gently before sliding my fingers lightly down his jaw in a soothing caress. His skin was so smooth.

He sighed again, and closed his eyes.

"Jacob," I whispered, inching closer. "I love you. And I _know_ you still love me…"

Jacob's hand reached up and I felt his fingers curl around my wrist tightly, halting my hand and forcing it away from his face.

"Don't." His voice was firm, but his eyes were still so sad.

"Why?" I breathed, moving closer still. He still hadn't let go of my wrist. My breasts brushed lightly against his tuxedo, the space between us disappearing. "Tell me you don't still love me."

Jacob was silent for a long time, looking anywhere but directly at me.

"I can't," he said at last, his voice defeated.

My heart soared and I nodded, smiling at him softly. Without pausing, I lifted my face up to his and brushed my lips lightly against his lips for no more than a second.

"Bella, stop." I found myself being pushed away quickly and I staggered to keep my balance, my eyes wide.

"Why?" I asked him, not comprehending.

Jacob shook his head. "I'm in love with Nessie." I winced at his words. "I _want_ Nessie."

"But our baby…" I struggled, feeling cold suddenly.

This time it was Jacob who stepped towards _me_.

I fought back tears of relief as I felt warm arms curl around me tightly, pulling me into the safety of his embrace.

"I want it, Bella," he whispered into my hair. "I want my child."

"So…you'll come back to me?" I pulled away slightly to look at him, my arms still wrapped tightly around his waist as hope swelled in my chest. "You'll leave her?"

I felt Jacob's arms loosen slightly as he sighed. "Bella…"

I took a step back, dropping my arms from his sides. "I don't understand."

"We can still be friends, Bella," Jacob smiled at me softly. "We can have joint custody. We can make this work with the three of us…"

"The _three of us_?" I spluttered, taking another large step back as I looked at Jacob with horror, tears stinging at my eyes. "No! No we _cannot_ make this fucking work!" I insisted angrily. "I won't share you!"

He shook his head. "I'm not yours to share anymore."

"You can't ask me to do this," I told him, trying to ignore the sting of his words. "You have a responsibility to me now. You have to take care of me!"

"I can," Jacob nodded, his voice soothing. "I _will_. Just not the way you want me to."

I could feel myself struggling to breathe, my chest tight and shuddering. "I can't believe you're saying this to me."

"I know this is a mess." Jacob put his hand on my arm lightly. His palm was cold now and I shivered against his touch. "And I know it's my fault. But, Bella, we can get through this…"

"No," I whimpered, shaking my head vehemently. "No, I can't do this."

"Bella, we _can_. You're not alone," he reassured me, rubbing his hand comfortingly up and down my bicep. It felt like ice. "You'll have me and Nessie and, I promise, once you get to know her…you'll love her."

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, pulling away, tears running down my face freely now. Every word out of his mouth was like something out of a nightmare.

"Calm down, sweetheart."

At the casual endearment, I snapped.

I could feel my entire body shuddering and jerking, my breaths quick and spastic. I could barely see his face, blurred through my tears.

"How can I calm down?" I demanded of him loudly. "This is all wrong!"

He kept his voice so calm and quiet. "No…"

"No? _No_?! This wasn't how it was supposed to happen!" I yelled, pointing at him accusingly. "You were supposed to be with _me_! You were supposed to marry _me_! You were supposed to want _me_!"

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled, agony all over his face.

In the end, I think it was his agony that made me say it. I think it was the pain on his face, my panic, and the delusion that he still loved me more than he loved her. If I could just make him admit it, _force_ him to recognize it, everything would be alright.

"If you don't walk away from her right now," I said with a rush of air, laying out the ultimatum. "I'm getting rid of it."

"Bella…" Jacob took a step towards me.

"No!" I held my hands up defensively. "No, I _won't _do this without you! I won't watch while she…" I swallowed, unable to say the words. I took a deep shuddering breath and finished, "It's your choice."

Jacob was silent again for a long time.

We stood there, on the little back street in front of the restaurant, right outside his wedding reception, and he watched me cry and beg and breathe.

After several minutes he said quietly, "No, Bella. It's _your_ choice." He reached his hand out to my cheek and brushed the rough pads of his fingers along my skin for just a moment. "You have to do what you think is right."

Without another word, he turned around and opened the door to go back into the restaurant. Back to his other life. Back to the woman he loved.

I had given him the choice – the last one I could offer – and he had chosen her.

I stood, motionless, as it slowly sank in.

_He would always choose her._

The shuddering and quaking continued and I could barely draw enough breath to keep myself conscious. I could feel everything going fuzzy and numb as I stumbled over to my car parked across the street.

I fumbled with my keys, dropping them onto the pavement with a small clink.

I fell to my knees to find them, my bare legs digging into the asphalt painfully under my weight.

I grabbed the sharp, jagged metal and pushed myself to my feet.

I watched my hand quivering as I tried to unlock the door.

I shoved the keys into my bag and turned around to walk down the street.

The fiery, consuming need to get away from the restaurant propelled me forward with staggered steps. My pace was quick and desperate and before long I found myself near the park on the outskirts of town.

I glanced behind me, surprised.

The park was miles from the restaurant and I had made it there within seconds.

I fought against heavy limbs, moving until I reached one of the trees on the edge of the park. I pressed my back to the tree, scraping and sliding along the bark as I fell. I curled my knees up to my chest and clutched at them desperately in an attempt to stop the shudders still tearing through me. I gulped deep, desperate breaths, not even caring that I was ruining my dress.

I couldn't see the children laughing and playing, their parents watching and scolding. I didn't notice when the sun started to sink lower into the sky, or when – one by one – families started leaving the park to return to their homes.

I don't know how long I sat there, completely alone.

I thought I would be there forever.

"_Bella!_"

I heard someone cry my name from far away. The sound was shocking to my ears after long, aching hours of counting breaths in the silence. My name rang out again and again, each time moving a little bit closer in the twilight air.

I didn't look to see who it was.

I stared straight ahead, at nothing, clutching at my knees a little harder and struggling to keep breathing.

Suddenly, there were warm hands on my hands. I could feel gentle fingers caressing my clawed ones, urging them to loosen their grip. I saw green eyes in front of mine, and a mouth that was asking me questions I couldn't understand.

It wasn't until I felt one arm wrap around my back and the other beneath my knees, it wasn't until I felt the euphoric sensation of being lifted like I was weightless and tiny, it wasn't until I heard the soothing whispers in my ear that I realized who it was.

By the time we reached his car, I was warm, my eyes were dry, and I could breathe again with my head against his chest.

"Hey, Bella, you okay?" I heard a voice ask me, snapping me out of my thoughts abruptly. The ache still remained.

I turned to see Emmett glancing at me curiously from the other side of the tarp.

"Yeah, of course," I said, trying to smile. It probably came out a grimace.

Emmett's brows furrowed, concerned. "You don't look so good," he stated simply, motioning to my face.

"I…I'm just really nervous up here," I covered.

I couldn't tell if he actually believed me or not, but he smiled a little in response.

"Still?" he asked me with a chuckle. "Come over here and hold this."

He held out the end of the tape measure to me and I moved over to kneel beside him.

"Just don't even think about it, okay?" he said with a smile as I took the end of the tape from his hand. "Don't look down. Just focus on what we're going. We'll be alright."

I nodded and watched – breathing quietly and calmly – as he began to take detailed measurements, make notes about angles, and scribble materials down on a list.

After several minutes, Emmett looked up at me. His worried expression hadn't gone away completely.

"Alright, we're finished up here," he told me. "You sure you're okay?"

I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way and nodded.

"Ready to climb back down?" he asked me.

I looked over to the ladder and nodded, feeling the blood drain from my face even as I did so. Emmett clapped me lightly on the shoulder and lead the way back over, swinging his leg unto the top rung fearlessly.

As I watched him climb down, I could feel my mind wander once again to the feel of asphalt under my knees. What would it feel like if I fell from so high? Probably wouldn't be as painful as the hours I had spent in that park.

And now, Edward wasn't here to catch me.

With a determined sniff, I swung my own leg carefully onto the rung and looked down over my shoulder. Emmett was watching me carefully, anchoring the ladder from the ground in both his massive hands.

Hand, hand, foot, foot.

When I was almost to the bottom, I felt Emmett's hands wrap around my waist and he swung me the rest of the way to the ground easily, handling me as if I were a doll. With my feet steady on the ground, I turned to smile at him gratefully.

His touch was all wrong.

"So," Emmett said, after a few moments. "I better head out."

I bit my lip, faced again with the prospect of being alone. I had begun to enjoy it, begun to look forward to waking up each day with privacy and solitude and no one to answer to but myself. But for some reason, I didn't want Emmett to leave.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in for a little bit?" I offered, motioning behind me to the house in invitation.

"I would love to, but I really have to be heading back," Emmett replied with a regretful shrug.

I managed to hide my disappointment.

"Okay."

"Hey," Emmett said suddenly, his brow furrowing. He patted at his pockets and grabbed a pen, ripping a piece of his notes on the measurements and scribbling something on it quickly. Then he held it out to me. "Here, if you ever want to talk…just give me a call."

I looked down at the tiny scrap of paper where ten digits were scrawled messily. I held it carefully, cupped in my palm as if it were precious.

A link.

"That's really kind of you," I told him, my eyes meeting his with absolute sincerity.

Emmett reached out one arm and pulled me into his chest for a final hug. His entire warm body enclosed me, enveloping me in comfort.

"You may be living by yourself," he whispered into my hair. "But you're not alone."

My heart squeezed slightly at his words and I clung to him a little tighter. "I believe you."

He felt so much like Jacob: the same warmth and energy and kindness and strength. I nuzzled closer, knowing that when I closed my eyes I could pretend – I could force myself back to a time when all I had was love and all I needed was what I held in my arms.

But something was off.

I could feel muscle beneath his shirt instead of bone. There was bulk where I craved angles.

His touch was all wrong.

With every breath I took, I got further and further from the fantasy: the only one that could keep me sane. I found myself remaining firmly in reality, Emmett holding me like a brother; like I needed comfort and affection. I was rooted to the moment when I had hate and fear and betrayal with my love and all I needed was gone. Maybe forever.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Jacob.

I could feel Emmett.

I wanted Edward.


	27. The Spring

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** I was not punishing you, I don't have new boyfriend that I'm having lots of sex with, and I'm not dead. I am, however, _very_ sorry for how long it's taken me to update. Almost as sorry as I am about the fact that when I finally _do_ update, it happens to be a lovely old transition chapter. The good new is, there will be no delay between this chapter and the next. So no more torturous waiting.

I really can't apologize enough. Thank you to everyone for being patient and supportive and a special thanks to all those who have been _impatient_ and supportive. I love to be affectionately kicked in the pants.

* * *

**The Spring**

The pounding of my heart was loud and uncomfortable in my chest as we approached the two figures standing silently on the porch.

Alice was beside me, Santana behind me, and all I could see was in front of me.

An uncomfortable lump formed in my throat as both men turned to watch us as we made our way slowly toward them. Each footstep that hit the ground was heavy with anxiety, excitement, stress, and expectation. I recognized Jasper's blond hair clearly in the bright air, the sun reflecting gold. But all my attention was focused on the silent man on his left.

I could feel more than I could see Edward's intense gaze directed unwaveringly on me.

I glanced sideways at Alice, my hand tightening on Santana's rope momentarily. It seemed like all the carefree excitement of the morning had dissipated within seconds. I could feel the tension and the nervous energy building up within me, and everything that had been easy and wonderful about the day seemed out of reach, like it had been something from another life.

This morning had been the first time it truly felt like spring.

The snow was almost completely gone, making the ground soft and muddy on the way over to the cabin. The grass that had emerged from beneath the icy covering was gold and brown, with only the barest hint of green. The trees were in that soundless, indescribable stage right before buds started to appear on their branches; a quiet promise of what was to come. I could almost feel the change about to happen.

As I walked, I had felt like the entire land was taking a deep breath in preparation for growth and bloom and life. All I could feel was anticipation and hope around me, and I was helpless to ignore it.

When I had arrived at the Whitlock's cabin a little after seven, Alice had been waiting for me outside, tapping her feet impatiently on the porch. Her eyes lit up when she saw me approaching, and before I even reached her she had shot to her feet and was making her way towards me with a wide smile stretched across her features.

"It's spring!" she had cried joyously, echoing my thoughts simply and clearly, the shift in the weather as clear and obvious to her as it had been to me.

I smiled back at her. "It is."

Taking my hand, she had led me around to the horses, talking animatedly as we turned the horses out into the fields. As soon as we released them they tore across the pastures, their hooves kicking up large chunks and divots in the soft earth. We watched them for a long time, our laughs cutting clear across the land, floating into the sunrise effortlessly.

The rest of the morning was spent with an exuberant, irrepressible energy. Mucking stalls took much longer than it normally did, as we joked and flung shavings in each other's hair and were distracted by anything and everything. Every time we dumped our wheelbarrows, Alice would clamber into mine and demand that I push her back to the barn as fast as I could. I would run and run and run until it hit a patch of mud and then it would spin out of control, dumping her onto the ground. It happened three times before Alice gave up on the idea.

A couple more hours of playful chores found us dragging horses out of the field for a walk around the property. Alice slung her tiny frame onto Jesse without a saddle, guiding her with only the rope of her halter. Santana trailed behind me easily, behaving himself in the warm air. But every once in a while, I would feel a little nudge on my elbow that I ignored. It turned into a playful tug at my shirt and finally light nips against my skin. When I whipped around to face the horse, he would jerk his head up and look at me innocently. I would grin and we would keep walking.

But when we returned, _he_ was waiting for me on the cabin's porch.

I wasn't unhappy to see him, I wasn't reluctant or scared or feeling anything like I would have felt weeks earlier. I certainly hadn't forgotten that he was coming up to finish the roof. In fact, since Emmett drove away on Thursday afternoon, I had thought of very little else. It was almost as if I expected myself to feel differently when we met, when we spoke. The impossibility of expectation weighed down on me, all rushing back up to the forefront of my mind when I saw him standing there, watching me from across the Whitlock's land.

I approached with trepidation, tugging at my tangled ponytail with one hand and glancing down at my dirty clothes ruefully. The two men descended the stairs to meet us and when I halted before them, I finally looked up to meet Edward's eyes.

The spring air had agreed with him, and seemed to affect him the same way it had affected both Alice and I. There was a flush of color in his face that was dramatic against his alabaster skin. His hair seemed to absorb the light of the sun rather than reflect it and his eyes sparked vibrant green as they locked with mine. My gaze trailed over the grey, long-sleeved shirt and the old jeans he was wearing comfortably, wondering if I had ever seen him so at ease.

And _that_ was the real difference.

There was a lightness about him that was completely unexpected. The sour intensity of his gaze had been replaced with a look of unassuming curiosity, as if everything in the world was new to him.

Including me.

When his lips twitched in a small smile, I realized that I had been staring.

"Hi," I said quietly, clearing my throat.

"Hello," he replied. His eyes darted briefly to the large horse I was holding and I leaned back unconsciously. I felt Santana's shoulder against my back, powerful and solid, and I felt a little stronger, a little calmer.

"Hi, Edward," Alice said with a smile, her voice surprisingly warm considering the tense content of their last conversation. She swung down effortlessly from her horse's back, and moved to stand beside me.

Edward nodded politely in acknowledgment before his gaze returned to me. "So," he inquired. "Friend of yours?" His eyes remained fixed on the red horse behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at Santana, who was staring intently at my husband, his eyes dark and his ears pricked forward. He was - remarkably - completely still behind me, not pawing at the ground or dancing around like he usually did. His entire body was tense though, and all his playful nips and tugs were forgotten in the past. It was eerie how similar his posture and stance mirrored my own.

"Yeah," I said with a tiny smile, watching Santana stare Edward down with a confidence I didn't feel. "I guess so."

I dragged my eyes away from the horse over my shoulder, looking back to Edward and waiting expectantly for him to say something.

"Do you come here every morning?" he asked at last, his eyes still flicking to Santana every few seconds. I couldn't tell if there was concern in his face, or if it was all unmasked curiosity.

I blinked at him for a moment, confused, before replying. "No?"

"Just today?" Edward smiled a little wider, his eyes sparking with something like amusement. Underneath, though there was a sliver of pain that was just barely noticeable, but that I saw in the tight lines of his jaw.

He didn't ask the other question. _Did you come here to avoid me?_

He didn't have to ask. I heard it.

"I was going to head back soon," I said quickly, truthfully. "I wasn't expecting you until after noon."

Edward's face relaxed a little.

"I know." He shrugged in agreement. "But I have a lot of work to do."

"Want me to walk you to the ranch house?" I offered without even thinking about it.

There was a long pause.

Edward stared at me, his mouth open slightly. Alice and Jasper remained silent, glancing back and forth between us without saying a word.

Feeling my face flush slightly I added, "I can help with the roof."

That seemed to snap Edward out of his shock.

"Oh," he spluttered awkwardly. "No, if you wanted to stay here, no." He shook his head adamantly. "That's…not necessary."

Feeling my blush deepen at the rejection, I looked away from him, down to my feet. "Okay, well…"

"Oh please, Bella. Go with him!" Alice cried suddenly, her voice bright and cheery. It cut through the tension effortlessly and immediately.

My eyes snapped up to hers in confusion, only to find her looking back at me pointedly.

"You have to change if you and I are going to make an elaborate feast," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then she paused and – leaning forward slightly – she sniffed at me with a grimace. "And you might want to shower, too."

I was sure that my skin was on the verge of bursting into flames. I snapped my arms to my sides quickly, stiffening in mortification. Alice smirked at my reaction and I glared at her in annoyance. "What are you talking about?" I mumbled, unable to call the irritation I felt into my voice.

"Jasper can help Edward with the roof," Alice said, winking at her husband before turning back to me with a grin. "Not that you'd be much help anyway."

"Hey!" I said indignantly. "I helped Emmett with…measuring things."

Alice nodded and patted the top of my head indulgently. "Yes you did."

I was debating whether or not to shove her into the mud when Jasper spoke up.

"I'd be happy to help," he said softly, his voice soft and polite and immediately calming.

I looked back at the two men, who appeared to have been watching our exchange with some interest.

Edward turned to Jasper with a shockingly cordial smile. "I have to admit," he said, sounding relieved. "It would be nice having someone up there who knows what they're doing."

Jasper nodded in silent agreement.

They both turned back to look at me and I sighed.

"So we're going to make dinner?" I asked Alice, grudgingly.

"No, Bella. We're not going to make _dinner_," she said with distaste. Then she opened her arms in a grand gesture and stated confidently, "We are going to make the most delicious, magnificent feast this side of Thanksgiving."

"We are?"

"Yes," she said with a firm nod. "We are."

With that, Alice shooed us away, promising that Jasper would make his way over after he helped her with the horses. I reluctantly surrendered Santana's lead rope and turned to Edward, immediately feeling awkward. For some reason, without the large red horse at my back, I felt incredibly vulnerable.

Edward shoved his hands into his pockets and motioned with his head towards the ranch house, a silent question. I nodded in response and he turned to walk back, with me falling into step beside him.

We walked in silence until we were over the hill.

"How's your week been?"

I looked over at Edward while we walked, surprised by his sudden question, but he was staring straight ahead, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"Good," I replied, turning away from him with a shrug. "It was nice seeing Emmett."

"He told me you were looking a little under the weather that day," he commented.

I couldn't help the small smile that touched the corners of my lips.

"No," I disagreed. "I was just scared shitless of falling off the roof to certain death."

I chuckled slightly but Edward was quiet beside me.

"He shouldn't have forced you to help him," he said after a moment, his voice surprisingly hard.

I looked over at him, my eyebrows rising when I saw the hard set of his jaw, how his eyes had narrowed slightly.

"It was fun, Edward. Really," I assured him, a little baffled. "I'm not as helpless as you think I am." He glanced over at me at the exact same time I blushed. "Or…I am," I amended, "but I don't _want_ to be."

Edward turned away from me again with a shake of his head, his tone growing reprimanding. "I hardly think risking your life is the correct way to learn to be independent."

I felt like a child.

"I wasn't risking my life," I snapped back, my voice a little sharp. "You climb up and down that ladder no problem. It's called an _irrational_ fear for a reason, you know."

Edward sighed but didn't relax.

"You have to admit, though," he said as we reached the house and ascended the porch stairs, side by side. "You're pretty much Murphy's Law incarnate." There was a small smile that disappeared quickly under a scowl and another firm shake of his head. "It was irresponsible of him."

"So today, if Jasper hadn't offered, you wouldn't have let me help you?" I asked him, stopping in front of the door and swinging around to face him.

He looked back at me blankly and said nothing.

When I finally decided I wasn't going to receive an answer, I turned around and walked through the front door quickly. I wasn't sure if he followed me in or not, but by the time I left to head back to the cabin, he and Jasper were already working up on the roof.

I didn't see him again until dinner.

I was placing a bowl of steaming hot mashed potatoes on the table when Edward and Jasper walked in. They were dirty and slightly sweaty and even from across the cabin I could tell they were ravenous. Edward's grey shirt was rolled up to his elbows and covered with tiny shavings of wood. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bright, and he smiled at me when he saw me.

I straightened up from the table and wiped my hands nervously on my jeans.

Greetings were made, Alice swatted Jasper away when he tried to touch her, and she demanded that they both wash their hands immediately. I hung back slightly and mumbled a quiet 'hello' when Edward passed me on the way to the sink.

It was so strange how nervous I felt around him.

I knew it was different than the fear I had felt the last few months, which was a fear born from anger and hate and guilt. This was a nervousness in the pit of my stomach, which made me tense and unsure of how to act. My stomach knotted at the sight of him, or at the thought of speaking with him or touching him. It was as if I was suddenly terrified about what he thought of me, of how I should behave around him, of what was appropriate and what wasn't. Things I had never worried about around him were suddenly consuming my every thought and motion.

I was the last to sit down, making sure everything was perfect before sliding quietly into the chair beside Edward. Alice gave me an encouraging smile from across the table and I nodded back, pulling my napkin onto my lap.

"So, Edward," Alice said, once everyone was settled and had begun eating. "How's the roof looking?"

Edward swallowed quickly before answering. "Perfect," he said, his voice happier than I had heard it in a long time. "Although mostly it was Jasper who fixed it."

Jasper shook his head in protest. "I hardly swung a hammer."

"Right, excuse me," Edward jokingly apologized before amending, "I did all the actual _work_...and he told me what to do."

Jasper chuckled and Edward grinned back at him. I felt a small pang, watching him smile so wide. I felt as though, before this moment, I had forgotten what it looked like when he did so.

"But you carried out my orders remarkably well," Jasper said encouragingly as he sipped his wine. The he added with a smirk, "Ever thought of going into construction? You could have a real future in it."

Edward rolled his eyes as I saw a faint twinge of color flush across his cheeks. "Very funny," he grumbled at Jasper's smile.

Alice looked between the two of them curiously, her eyes bright. "What are we missing?"

Jasper snorted and admitted, "Edward may have…_injured_ himself in the line of duty."

With that, Edward held up his left hand sheepishly so Alice and I could see the white gauze wrapped around two of his fingers.

Without even realizing it I was doing it, I grabbed the wrist of his left hand and pulled it close to me to examine his hand, my fingertips running along the bandage gently. "Are you alright?" I asked him loudly, my brow furrowed.

Edward didn't resist the contact, quietly allowing me to clutch at his hand in my surprise, but the table fell silent almost immediately. As soon as I registered the stares and the warmth of his skin under my palm, I released him in horror. I could feel my face burning intensely and I grabbed at the wine glass in front of me, taking a sip as I sunk down into my chair, embarrassed.

"I'm fine," Edward said softly, looking at me with a curious expression as he dropped his hand back down into his lap.

There were several minutes of silence after that as we ate.

I picked at my meal half-heartedly, not really tasting the food that I dragged up to my lips. I found myself leaning away from Edward minutely, as if the sudden return of tension was physically pushing me away from him. I wished with all my heart that I hadn't touched him and that he hadn't looked at me like that. Like I was a stranger.

Edward didn't seem to notice my discomfort. In fact, both he and Jasper didn't seem to notice anything for the next few minutes except for the food on their plates. They shoveled it in heartily and with enthusiasm. Alice ate more than I did, but she was eating slowly, glancing at me from time to time carefully. I rolled my eyes at her and lifted a large forkful of potatoes to my mouth.

Alice, unable to remain in silence for more than five minutes at a time, spoke up at last. "So, what do you guys think?" she asked, glancing from Edward to Jasper and back again.

Jasper swallowed a large bite, washing it down with the wine before looking at her earnestly. "I have never tasted such a luscious, delectable meal," he said with a remarkable amount of sincerity.

Alice nodded, pleased. "Correct."

She grinned at him and he bumped his shoulder against hers affectionately before he resumed his vigorous eating. I couldn't help but smile softly at the two of them, looking down at my own plate and poking my fork at the carrots.

Suddenly, I felt a warm wash of breath in my ear.

"It's delicious," Edward said quietly, leaning over and staring straight at me.

I jerked my head up, surprised at the compliment, and he smiled at me kindly.

I could feel that inevitable blush starting to creep back down my neck and I looked down to my plate again, this time with muted pleasure.

"Alice did most of it," I said with a shrug.

"Nonsense," Alice said loudly, waving her hand. When I looked up at her she winked at me before chuckling. "Bella did all the actual _work_...I just told her what to do." She repeated Edward's words.

I found myself laughing lightly along with everyone else.

Edward turned to look down at me with a grin. "I see we've played right into their hands."

"We're a couple of regular patsies," I agreed with a nod.

I could feel the stilted awkwardness in the room dissipate slowly after that, my entire body eventually relaxing into the evening and the company. I sipped at my wine and allowed myself to feel the warmth of my limbs, the sharp edges of the room glow and fuzz until they were soft. I didn't flinch when Edward's fingers brushed against mine as I passed him the bread and I didn't blush when he picked my napkin up off the ground and handed it to me with a smile.

Eventually, everyone slowed down, tapering off from the meal one by one. I was the first to stop eating and Edward was the last, finally pushing his plate away at eight o'clock with a satisfied smile and leaning back in his chair. Conversation lagged as we all basked in the pleasant calming effects of the food and the wine. I finished my third glass as we all stood to clear the table. We carried plates and silverware over to the sink and covered the leftover food to put in the refrigerator.

As I rinsed my plate, Edward moved to stand beside me, scraping his plate into the trash. I held out my hand and took it from him.

"Did you ever get a chance to get in to see the cold room?" I asked him curiously, no longer feeling nervous when I spoke.

"The cold room?" Alice asked from the other side of the counter. She walked over to stand on my other side, turning on the tap and grabbing the plate out of my hands to begin washing it. Then she handed it back to me, nodding towards the dishtowel suggestively. I wiped the plate dry and set it down on the counter.

I smiled at her question as we began to work and explained, "Do you know the bedroom at the back of the house that you were helping me strip? Well, the heat doesn't reach that room so well, so we call it 'the cold room'."

Alice scoffed, "Perfect place for a bedroom."

I opened my mouth to reply, but shut it again almost immediately.

I didn't really want to tell her that I had been sleeping in that room for months, that it had been both sanctuary and prison for months. Nor did I want to tell her that it had once belonged to Edward. Neither of those facts I particularly felt the _need_ to hide or keep secret, I only felt that I didn't particularly want to share them.

I could feel Edward's eyes on me as I nodded and remained silent, not elaborating for Alice. I couldn't tell if he was grateful or upset.

I turned back to look at him again, waiting for his answer.

"No," he said with an apologetic shake of his head. "I didn't see it. Actually, I didn't go inside at all."

"Oh," I said, feeling a little disappointed that he hadn't seen my work. "Well, it's about halfway done. I had to enlist Alice's help for a few days and Jasper may have given us some invaluable advice involving vinegar and water…but I should be able to finish most of it on my own in a few days."

"Well, if you want to come into the city when you're finished, we can go pick out some paint colors," Edward suggested.

I blinked at him. "Alright."

Edward nodded and smiled at me, before walking away, back to the table where Jasper was lifting napkins and brushing crumbs off the wood. I turned back to focus on drying the dishes, a pleasant, contented quiet falling between Alice and I.

Several minutes later, I heard a jangle of metal near the front door and I whipped around to see Edward gathering up his car keys as he spoke to Jasper in a low tone, his voice quiet and unintelligible from a distance.

I stacked the last plate without drying it, threw the towel down on the counter, and strode across the room quickly. "Are you leaving?" I asked him, my question neither plea nor demand but rather a little of both.

Edward looked at me with momentary surprise.

Jasper excused himself quietly and went over to take my place with Alice at the sink.

"It's getting late," Edward replied at last, with a shrug.

I bit my lip, warring with myself briefly before I choked out, "You can stay at the house." Edward's eyebrows shot up and I swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I cleared out Rosalie's room a little. I mean, most of the junk is still in there, but I cleaned off the bed and washed the sheets and blankets and dusted and everything…" I trailed off, feeling foolish.

Edward took a step towards me and smiled softly. "That's very kind of you, Bella, but I really should be heading home."

"Are you sure you're alright to drive?" I demanded, remembering last weekend.

"I didn't have anything to drink tonight," he told me quietly.

I opened my mouth, trying to remember him drinking the same wine the rest of us had. I could only remember him drinking water from the glass beside his wine, the deep purple liquid remaining completely untouched nest to my own. "Oh."

An awkward silence descended and I could feel my nerves begin to return. Edward was looking at me intently, and although his gaze was not unkind, it didn't offer any indication of what he could possibly be thinking. I looked down to my feet, as if they were suddenly, deeply fascinating.

Without warning, I felt a light brush against my arm. A shock of heat raced through me at the contact and my head lifted slowly, glancing sideways at the long fingers that were tracing along the fabric of my sleeve with incredible softness.

After a moment, Edward's hand dropped back to his side and I looked up to his face, my eyes meeting his curiously.

"Dinner was wonderful," he said quietly, his voice reassuring. Then he added, "Call me whenever you want to go looking for paint colors and we'll work something out."

"Okay."

Edward hesitated before clearing his throat. "Well, I'll see you soon."

"Okay."

He turned away from me then and called a goodbye to Alice and Jasper, thanking them for all their help and hospitality. I barely heard what he said, I just watched him quietly, wishing I had the guts to say something more to him. I looked at him, at the contentment on his face and the bright of his eyes; I felt the lingering heat of his brief touch, and it was spring. I could feel the warmth and ease coursing through my veins, and I wondered if it was nothing but a side effect of the alcohol.

I felt colder, just a little, when Edward stepped out the front door and closed it behind him.


	28. The Choice

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the slight delay on this chapter...even though I said there wouldn't be one. It ended up being a little longer than I had anticipated. Thank you - as always - for your patience.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to recognize how awesome **Feisty Y. Beden** (or **feistyyoungbeden** on Ravelry and Twilighted) is, and to suggest that you all please read "Sleepers, Awake" if you have the time and haven't already. I don't read a lot of fanfiction, and after reading that story I probably never will. It destroyed me, in the best way possible. I hesitate to recommend it because, upon reading, you will all realize what a mediocre writer I am. But that's a risk I'm willing to take. That story is above and beyond fanfiction, I am not kidding. Go into it without expectations of reading a light fanfiction; go into like you would a serious, tragic, beautiful novel. Her ache is beyond words.

Without any agenda or suggestion - in case any of you care to know - this is my favorite chapter of this story so far. I don't say that to imply that it should be all your favorites. It's actually a pretty asshole-like plea for you to be gentle with your reviews.

One more thing in regards to reviews? I can't believe how many I have received and continue to receive. I am truly baffled, thankful, and embarrassed beyond words. The same goes for the incredibly lovely recommendations I have been given on various blogs and fanfiction websites, the banners that you've taken the time to make inspired by this story, and the life and curiosity of all those who discuss this fanfiction with remarkable regularity and passion on various forums.

* * *

**The Choice**

I stood outside the front door nervously, smoothing my hair again and again, biting my lip and shifting my weight. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, my entire body feeling weighed down by the pulse and tremor. A light sprinkle from the clouds overhead pattered against my face, dampening my hair and spotting my sweater.

I had been anticipating this day all week, finally getting the courage to call Edward yesterday when I had finished stripping the walls of the cold room. They were naked and colorless, ragged and rundown and begging for life. I stood in the room, paper littered around me like leaves in the fall, and turned around again and again. As I looked at the absence of color, I felt an inexplicable sense of dread build inside my chest until I finally flew down the stairs to the phone, lifting it and dialing Edward's cell number without hesitation.

The conversation was short and polite, he told me to meet me at Esme's house in the city around noon. He gave me the address and I agreed with an exhale, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye.

For the first time in weeks, it began to rain when I left the ranch house. I drove to Colorado Springs, the windshield speckled with raindrops, the clouds that rolled in the sky blocking out the sun and darkening the day. When I arrived at the address I had scribbled down messily on a small scrap of paper, I got out of the car without grabbing my jacket or an umbrella.

I waited outside the door, allowing the rain to fall to my skin, struggling with indecision and nerves.

Finally, I lifted my finger to the bell beside the door, pressing lightly until I heard the muffled chime inside. My throat was dry when I heard light footsteps sound from inside, growing closer. I straightened nonexistent wrinkles from my sweater and brushed a hand over my hair once more.

When the door swung wide in front of me, I felt the oddest mix of relief and disappointment, all my fear leaving me in an instant, overcome by a shock of the unexpected. I sighed out the release of tension as I looked into the face, not of my estranged, intense husband, but of his beautiful mother.

"Bella, darling!" she cried, her voice excited and not at all surprised to see me. "Come in!"

I smiled at her, mumbling my greetings quietly and politely as she motioned me inside. I stepped into the house past her and she closed the door behind me. I turned to face her, linking my hands awkwardly in front of me.

"Edward should be back any minute," she told me cheerfully. She walked around me, heading through the narrow hall, towards the back of the small house. She turned to look over her shoulder at me as she continued, "He's running a little late getting out of work today. He said you would probably get here before he did."

"That's fine," I replied, waving my hand and feeling a little more relieved, as if I had been given some small reprieve.

Esme led me into the small living room, walking over to the couch where someone was already sitting, waiting for her.

I halted in the doorway, my mouth falling open at the sight of the gorgeous, intimidating blonde woman seated across the room. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, her perfect lips tightening into a straight, tight line.

"Bella," she said with a nod of acknowledgment, her voice flat and emotionless.

I swallowed loudly before stuttering out, "Hello, Rosalie."

The tension in the room was suddenly thicker than it ever had been in Edward's presence. The silence built quickly, with alarming speed, and it wasn't long before it was so thick that I felt trapped by it. Almost as if I tried to speak again, my words out get caught in the air like flies trapped in amber.

Esme looked between us, her expression worried and curious.

"Why don't you have a seat, dear?" she offered, the question and her words slipping from her lips with incredible ease. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

I forced myself to move forward, sinking slowing into the armchair next to the couch. I tore my eyes away from Rosalie's glare to look back up at Esme kindly. "No, thank you."

She smiled back. "Well, I'm going to get myself something," she proclaimed before turning to look down at her motionless daughter. "Rosalie?"

Rosalie shook her mane of golden hair, curls bouncing and rippling slightly, catching the light and sparking white. "No thanks, Mom."

Esme placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder briefly before excusing herself and exiting the room quietly. I followed her with my eyes, wishing with all my heart that she wouldn't leave me alone. I wondered if she couldn't feel the tension emanating from Rosalie, or if she simply chose to ignore it.

"So…" I said lamely after a moment, turning back to face the severe woman sitting beside me. I could feel the ice and awkward in the room, afraid I would be crushed beneath it. Rosalie's eyes were sharp and blue, fixed on my face and giving me nothing. I began, "Shame about the rain isn't it? I mean, it's been so nice lately…"

"What are you doing here, Bella?" She cut me off suddenly, her voice cracking through the air like a whip. Her tone was clear and musical and I could imagine she had a lovely singing voice, even through her anger.

I paused, momentarily shocked by her question.

"Oh. Esme didn't tell you?" I asked, confused but attempting to keep my voice as bright and unassuming as possible. "I'm going to pick out some paint colors with Edward. You see, the roof was leaking and the wallpaper in the cold…I mean, his old bedroom was peeling pretty badly, so we're going to – "

She interrupted again. "I _know_ why you're here." Her voice was venom.

My brow furrowed, baffled. "I thought you said – "

"What do you want with my brother?" Rosalie hissed over my doubt. Her eyes were leveled with mine, searching and demanding.

My jaw dropped open, my voice leaving me as all my uncertainty slipped away. I could see her waiting for my answer, my explanation. Every line of her posture was bent in Edward's defense, fierce and full of rage.

"I…" I began, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, we both heard the front door of the house open from the other room. There was the low murmur of a man's voice and Esme's bright greeting.

I stood up from my chair as if I had received an electric shock, my head whipping around to the entrance of the living room. I couldn't see who had entered the house, but I knew just the same. Beside me, Rosalie also stood. Her movement, though, was slow and graceful, still angry and accusing. Her eyes didn't leave my face and when I turned back to look at her, she was watching me.

We stared at each other for several moments, locked in silence once more as we waited.

There was the movement of two pairs of footsteps, making their way towards the living room. I spun back around in the exact moment that Esme walked through the living room door, Edward behind her.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Bella. I was…" he stopped in the moment he noticed Rosalie.

His eyes slid from my face to hers, narrowing a little at her expression. I didn't look away from him to see if she was still glaring at me, or if she was attempting to hide her hostility from her brother. The expression reflected in his eyes told me that she didn't hide from anything.

There was quiet for a long time, Esme and I standing in the middle of some silent conversation between siblings. I shifted my weight, biting my lip and wishing that I could disappear, that the ground would open up and swallow me whole, that I had never come.

But then Edward was looking right at me, and the kindness in his eyes made me forget my doubt.

"Ready?" he asked, holding out his hand.

I didn't look at Rosalie when I stepped forward, towards him.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back as I took his hand.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "Let's go."

*

I was on my back, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. I had been lying on my bed for seconds, minutes, hours, years just waiting for the staggering pain to subside. Moments of numbness would flicker quietly, breaking up the hurt with bursts of apathy. But then my mind would take me back to his face, to losing him, to seeing everything I had ever wanted from my life walking away from me and I was in agony again.

"Bella?" I heard a gentle voice in the black. "Won't you eat something?"

I listened to Edward's soft footsteps make their way slowly across the room. I didn't lift my head to try to see him. I didn't _want_ to see him. I wished that he would go, and I didn't know what I would do if he actually did.

The resentment and dependency twisted inside me, only amplifying the ache.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, my voice flat.

He was beside me then, his hand resting on my shoulder before dragging gently down my bare arm. Then it moved back up to the strap of my dress, playing with it lightly as he knelt down next to the bed. I heard his breath shudder a little at the movement before it was hot and steady against my skin.

"What about that dress?" He tried again. "It can't be comfortable."

I didn't respond.

When Edward had found me at the park, his only instinct had been to get me away, to get me inside. I remembered how tightly his arms were braced against my back, under my knees, how solid and comforting he had been in that moment. He had placed me in his car – not asking or caring where mine was – and had driven me back to my apartment. He carried me up four flights of stairs because the elevator was taking too long.

He set me down on the bed in my beautiful, torn dress and I hadn't moved since.

My eyes found the clock that burned into the silence. It was almost midnight.

I remained perfectly still when I felt Edward pull at the dress's zipper. I rolled onto my side without comment and let him peel it from my body, shedding like the skin of a snake. It was dead now.

There was a rustle of fabric as he set the dress onto the chair next to the bed, and then I felt his weight dip the mattress slightly. I lay on my side, facing away from him, in nothing but my underwear and I felt the tips of his fingers brushing at the hair that cascaded down my back.

After a long while, I heard Edward's voice again, quiet in the dark. "What did he say?"

I flinched slightly at his question, closing my eyes against the images that immediately began to play out again before my eyes. Words echoing in my head that I couldn't shut out.

"You know what he said," I choked, unable to say more.

Edward was quiet again.

Then, "I'm so sorry, Bella."

It was an exhaled breath, the apology rolling out of him with all the sincerity he possessed. All the genuine feeling that he could muster. I hated him for his pity and for his compassion and for his love.

"Are you?" I asked him, my voice hard. I rolled over to my other side to face him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at me. The hand that had been barely maintaining contact with my back dropped uselessly to the mattress. "Isn't this what you wanted?" I demanded, bitterly.

He swallowed and shook his head, his eyes crushed and defeated. "I never wanted to see you hurt," he whispered.

I hated that I believed him.

It didn't matter though. No matter what he had wanted, then or now, I still felt the break with all the clarity and rawness of an open wound. My entire body, my mind was cracking beneath the weight of it and so he was here telling me that had never wanted it? Why should I fucking care?

I closed my eyes, trying to hold onto my anger a little longer. I felt the pain less when I was angry at him. But then I was angry at nothing, and it all led me back to Jacob anyway.

"What are you going to do?" Edward's voice breathed out.

I sighed, my eyes flickering open and fixing on the bright red numbers of the clock. I was glad he was at my back, glad I couldn't see the urgency that I heard in his voice.

"You know that, too," I told him simply, because he did.

There was only a brief pause before, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

Suddenly his hand was on my shoulder. I felt my entire body lock down, flinch away from the contact, but his palm remained pressed against my shoulder blade firmly.

"Maybe you shouldn't make this decision now," he told me, his voice calm and reasoning. "We could talk about it…"

"I have nothing to say to you, Edward," I replied, dead.

"Well, maybe _I_ have something to say to _you_." His voice was confident, but I could hear the nerves quaking beneath. Still, I felt myself focusing in on him, surprised at the force behind his words.

Then, he fucking said it.

"Bella, I'm in love with you."

At those words, I rolled over to face him, my arm shoving beneath my body to push myself up on my elbow. I could see shock register on his face as he watched my sudden, violent movement. My jaw flexed and clenched and I could feel heat in my skin and steel in my eyes.

"Don't fucking say that to me," I snapped, leaning towards him. "_Not now_. You _know_ I don't love you. There's _nothing_ I want from you." The last thing I saw of his expression was surprise sinking into hurt before I flopped back over onto my side, away from him. "So just…shut up," I finished, my voice quiet and wavering.

There was a pause that felt like it would last forever.

Then I felt him leaning over me. His hand once again smoothed over my shoulder, before drifting down to my bare waist. I felt the cotton of his shirt, the bone and muscle of his chest pressing against my back as he slowly wrapped his body around mine. I tensed, but made no move to stop him or to push him away.

When he stilled, I heard him breathe in my ear, "I know you feel like it's never going to stop hurting."

I could feel his lips on my skin, so hot.

"What would _you_ know about it?" I retorted, unsure.

"Bella," he began as his fingers traced a lazy pattern along my hip bone. His voice was all empathy and velvet. "The only thing I want – the only thing I've _ever_ wanted – can never be mine."

I felt a small pang in my chest that had nothing to do with Jacob.

I brushed it aside, ignoring it, as I stated firmly, "We're _not_ the same."

Edward chuckled heat against the bare skin of my neck. "Of course we are." I could hear the sad smile in his voice. "We always have been."

I twisted in his arms, turning to face him abruptly. His hand slid easily over the skin of my stomach as I moved, and when my eyes met his he was looking down at me with only kindness. Only love.

"What do you _want_?" I asked him because I didn't know.

Edward smiled.

"I want you to eat something," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss against my cheek. Then he sighed and continued, "I want you to let me hold you." His arms tightened slightly, my owns hands snaking up to rest against his chest. "I want to make sure nothing ever hurts you again." His eyes were bright. "Bella, I want you keep this baby. _Our_ baby."

"It's not yours." My voice was a whimper.

"It can be," he said as if it was obvious.

Suddenly, I could feel the heat and salt of tears tracking down my cheeks. The pain and the numb subsiding into the physical as I clung to Edward's shirt. I buried my face into his chest, sobs shaking my entire body as warm arms pulled me closer, tighter. I gasped and spluttered for breath and I felt Edward's lips press against my hair once, twice, three times.

Then, against the tears and the silence, "Marry me, Bella."

*

We were quiet in the car for a long time. I ran my fingers along the leather seams of the door, sliding them across the metal of the door handle and twisting around the lock. I counted the seconds between telephone poles along the curving road as we made our way to the store.

The silence was heavy, loaded, but not tense. I could feel in the air the combination of crackling nerves and energy. The hostility that I used to feel when Edward would take me in his car to buy groceries had dissipated, replaced with the lightness of our new, tentative relationship; leaving words unsaid but not unfelt.

"So," Edward's voice cut through the quiet at last. I was startled by the sound, so sudden after the silence, and I flinched slightly in my seat before turning to him. "Have you given any thought to colors?"

I was confused by his question for a moment, before I remembered where we were going.

"Oh, um…" I stuttered, caught off guard. "Not really. I just figured that since it was your room, you'd want to pick."

He glanced at me quickly, his expression curious, before turning back to focus on the road. His mouth hadn't moved at all, remaining straight and emotionless, but his eyes were smiling and surprised.

"Why don't we just see if we can't compromise?" Edward suggested, his lips twisting into a smirk slowly.

I smiled.

"Sure," I said with a nod.

We lapsed back into an easy silence. I shifted my gaze to the road ahead of us, straightening slightly in my seat. I hadn't even realized I had felt uneasy until some of the pressure suddenly lifted.

Compromise was not something that we did.

It was about him or it was about me. Most importantly – and most often – it was about sacrifice.

Even with the trivial things, we were changing.

Several minutes later, I glanced over to see Edward's entire body go slightly rigid. He tensed subtly, his expression darkening with the turn of his thoughts. I watched him curiously, until he spoke.

"Was Rosalie bothering you?" he asked the question I had not been expecting at all.

"Oh…" I breathed, my heart suddenly racing in my chest, not knowing what to say. At last I replied as honestly as possible. "No, of course not. I mean, you got there so soon after I arrived…we didn't talk much."

Edward turned to look at me again, his eyes leaving the road ahead of him for a moment before flicking back away from me.

"I'm sorry if she said something rude to you," he said quietly, his words sincere and understanding perfectly the tension that he had walked into in the living room.

I couldn't stop my eyes from snapping to him immediately. His face was twisted with concern, his eyes on the road were deliberately fixed and unmoving. In his expression I could see a strange, foreign spark of guilt.

I shifted uncomfortably.

"She was mostly just worried," I told him, thinking that he had everything all wrong.

He shouldn't be upset with Rosalie, shouldn't be concerned about my feelings, and shouldn't feel guilty if they were hurt.

Still, at my words of assurance, Edward chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "What could _she_ possibly have to be worried about?"

My eyes dropped from his face, knowing the answer as I looked at my hands, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

"You." I answered him in a whisper.

Edward was silent for a long time. I could feel his eyes moving to me every few seconds, but I didn't look up to see what he was thinking. I could see his hands tightening on the steering wheel in my peripheral, the lines and muscle of his arm flexing with the movement.

I heard him heave a sigh. "Rosalie's always been a little…" he paused, searching for the word. "_Protective_."

I swallowed and forced myself to look up at him, lifting my head. He was watching me, his eyes flicking from me to the road and back again at the turn of every second. When he saw me raise my chin to meet his glance, his face expressed only concern and apology.

"I understand why she is," I told him firmly, wishing he wouldn't look at me that way.

Edward's brows rose slightly, surprised and skeptical.

"Do you?" he asked me curiously.

I shrugged with a nod. "You're her brother," I explained. I hesitated for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath before I continued shakily, "And I can't even _start_ to count the ways I've hurt you before…"

I could see pain flash across Edward's features and I allowed my words to trail off into silence. I watched him carefully as he slowly began to understand that there was no reason to hide anymore. Not from Rosalie or from anything else.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Edward said at last, his grip on the steering wheel shifting and loosening slightly. His voice was sad. Then he said plainly, "She doesn't know everything."

I blinked at him.

"What have you kept from her?" I asked him with surprise.

The way that Rosalie looked at me, watched me, ignored me, spoke to me – I had always just assumed that Edward had confided in her every turn of our marriage and its slowly increasing entropy.

Edward's jaw tightened and he remained silent, not answering me.

I told him quietly, "I promise you that whatever it is wouldn't make her hate me any less."

His eyes narrowed and shifted to mine suddenly. He hissed out, his voice desperate, "How can you possibly know that?"

I shrugged at him, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly on one side. "Because I know myself."

Edward looked at me for a long moment.

When he looked back to the road, he was forced to swerve slightly to stay in his lane. I watched him for a moment, hearing the words I had spoken repeating over and over through the sudden quiet, sounding true and undisputed. I knew he wasn't going to respond again.

There was nothing to say.

I nodded and looked away from him, a pained smile stretching itself across my mouth. My eyes drifted to the buildings, cars, people, flickering by outside the window. I watched the city speeding past with a fascination and happiness that was derived from months of isolation.

I was reminded of New York, of the way that I had loved that city with every piece left within me that could love. If I had missed the trees and the rain and the lush green of my west coast home, I ignored the feeling because all it meant was that I missed Jacob. He was the home I had left behind. My love for New York was meant to fill the void Jacob had left; the void that I couldn't fill with love for my husband.

This city, though, _this_ was pure. This was people and work and brilliance and life. My appreciation for it was still born from the sudden absence of pain, but it was different somehow.

This was not an escape. This place was where I was meeting everything without flinching.

I felt nothing of misery or longing or anger or pain when I looked out at this city. I didn't think of Forks or Jacob or all that I had left behind. I didn't think of my failed marriage or my lost child or my perpetual unhappiness.

I looked at this city and I felt only Edward's silent presence sitting beside me.

*

I was getting dressed when I heard the front door slam against the wall.

"Bella?" His frantic voice called out. "Bella?!"

I didn't respond as I pulled my shirt over my head. I could hear him crashing through the apartment. His briefcase thrown onto the ground, the bedroom door opening and closing in a flurry, his stumbling steps hurried in his attempt to find me.

When the door to the bathroom swung open, he stopped.

I could feel him looking at me, his breathing ragged and deep. I glanced up as I sat on the edge of the bath and pulled socks onto my feet, careful to keep my face expressionless as I looked back at him silently. His eyes traveled up and down my body, over and over, as if he was committing it to memory.

"You're here," he said at last, his voice raspy and surprised.

I shook my head in annoyance. "I was just leaving."

I stood up, narrowing my eyes threateningly as I made a slight move towards the door. He stepped towards me in response, his hands lifting from his sides, ignoring my glare. I froze and backed away from him warily, not wanting him to trap me in his arms, irritated and startled by the sudden intensity in his face.

"Don't do this," he pleaded, his voice imploring.

"It's _my_ decision," I snapped immediately. "It's _my_ choice to make."

"As long as you know you _have_ a choice," Edward replied, surprisingly hard. "Because you're doing a pretty good job of acting like you don't." I could hear the desperate, helpless frustration in his voice.

It pissed me off.

I felt my cheeks flush and I took a large step forward, poking my finger into his chest angrily. "So what, Edward?" I demanded, mocking. "You think we can just become some big happy family? I hate to break it to you, but that's _really_ not in the cards for us."

He gazed down at me and I could see his arms raising slowly, could feel the anticipation of tenderness in his embrace before he even touched me. I flinched back, resisting the urge to be comforted by him, turning and taking a large step to the sink. I bent over the porcelain, my hands on either edge, and looked at my own face in the mirror. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me.

"All I have is this fucking hole in my chest," I hissed. "This fucking _agony_. There's nothing else."

Edward looked at me for a moment, then followed me into the bathroom and grabbed my left hand, prying it from the cold sink and pulling me to face him. I looked up at him reluctantly as he pressed my palm up against his heart tightly, crushing my fingers into his sternum.

"I can make you happy," he told me then. "Just give me the chance."

I barely paused before I jerked my hand away from him, violent and tearing. "Get out of my way, Edward."

I pushed past him before he could say anything in response, forcing my body away from his without turning back. I strode over to the front door of the apartment, grabbing my shoes up off the ground and yanking them onto my feet.

Edward followed me, watching as I tied the laces with flustered, clumsy fingers.

"I should come with you." His voice was quiet now and incredibly tender.

I couldn't force myself to lift my eyes to see his expression. I could hear the pain in his voice, the wrenching turn of his words as they thrummed through my blood. I could feel myself holding him just as wholly as Jacob had once held me.

What else could I do?

What else did I know _how_ to do?

"It'd be easier if you didn't." I spoke to the ground.

After a moment, when I was sure he wasn't going to speak again, when I was positive he wouldn't try to follow me, I turned on my heel and grabbed the door knob, my fingers twisting around the cold glass.

"You always have a choice, Bella."

I stopped moving, stopped breathing, my hand still on the door.

His voice was soft and clear, his words truthful and afraid. It wasn't important to him that I stayed, that I listened to him, that I kept the child, that I married him. It was only him, wanting me to _know_. It was desperation for me to understand that the choice was there, and that it was mine.

For the first time I felt as though he spoke to me without expectation.

I waited there, unsure of why I did. All I knew was that when I heard him step towards me, I couldn't stop myself from turning to face him.

He was in front of me in that instant and I remained stone when his hand reached out, my silence permitting his fingers to brush the length of my cheek. I felt my blood rise to greet his skin, delicate pink under white, and I waited.

I saw him breathing, looking at me, as I breathed and looked back at him.

"This child may not be mine," he began at last, his voice shaky and controlled. "And _you_ may not be mine…but you need to know." He took a deep breath. "I want this and I want it with _you_."

His eyes burned into mine for a moment, before he dropped his gaze in embarrassment or the intensity of emotion.

"I've never wanted anyone _but_ you." He spoke to the wall beside my head, his voice quieter. "Saying anything else would be a lie." He swallowed and then he his eyes were back, tangled with mine. "I want you to keep it, but you don't like the way those words sound when I say them."

His voice died in his throat and he surrendered it easily, staring at me with uncertainty.

I shuddered slightly, feeling my entire face fall.

"Then don't say them," I begged him, even though it was already too late. "Don't say anything."

I pulled away from him and walked out the door, fighting tears and the desire to look back.

*

"Blue, Edward? _Really_?"

I held the small tab that Edward had handed me, glaring between his smiling face and the little square of color he had pointed to.

It had only been moments after we had walked into the store that all the tension, all the strange honesty in the car had disappeared completely. It may have had something to do with the sudden flash of excitement that shot through me. I had seized Edward's hand without warning and had dragged him over to the wall of colors, feeling a strange anticipation for the project I had undertaken, images suddenly rising up before my eyes of the room when it was finished: my hands covering Edward's eyes as I walked behind him up the stairs, revealing the room to him with pride and accomplishment; presenting it to him like a lover's token.

"What?" he demanded, pretending to be offended. "I like blue."

"But that's really…pastel." I said the word like it was disgusting to me. He had chosen the lightest blue on the little tab of five colors. "It looks like a color for, like, a _nursery_."

My mouth snapped shut after I had said the word, my face heating immediately in horror, wishing with everything in me that I could take it back. I had meant only playfully insult him, to imply that he was childish and sentimental.

His face paled suddenly, white as bone, and he remained silent for a long time.

I shifted my eyes away awkwardly, looking back down to the colors in my hand, pretending to be suddenly fascinated with the various blues that I held.

After a beat, I heard Edward's voice, strained and forced. "Which one do _you_ like?"

I cleared my throat and put the blue tab back, grabbing at the one I was looking at before. I glanced up at his face, not surprised to see his expression had become tense and indecipherable. Still, he didn't look angry when I held out the tab, pointing to the middle color. "I was thinking maybe this green."

"Bella," he said, taking the tab from me and studying it before looking up at me with a smirk. "That looks like pea soup."

I smiled at him gratefully and then shook my head. I grabbed at another tab with darker, forest greens and pointed to the deepest one at the bottom.

"But we could trim it with this. You know?" I said, imploringly as I tried to explain. "Around the molding, along the edges of the wall?"

Edward took the other tab, holding the two greens side by side. "I don't know…"

My face fell a little, my mouth dropping to a disheartened frown. "You don't like it?"

"I do," Edward said, shaking his head a looking back up at me. He looked earnest and at ease once again. "But painting the molding?" he asked me skeptically. "Neither of us are exactly skilled painters."

I crossed my arms with a huff and a small smile. "Speak for yourself."

"Oh?" he grinned, his eyes widening as he pretended to be surprised. He teased, "You have a skill set that I am not aware of?"

"Well…not yet," I admitted with a sheepish smile. Then I set my face in determination and added, "But if I can peel all the godforsaken wallpaper off the walls, I can _develop_ a skill set. Because I am _not_ letting all my hard work get wasted on a simple, boring paint job." I nodded firmly. "It's got to look perfect."

Edward looked amused by my rant, his posture no longer tense.

"Then maybe we should hire a professional," he suggested, his eyes falling back down to look at the two greens again.

"Absolutely not!" I cried, without even thinking about it.

He looked back up at me, surprised by my outburst. Then he relaxed into another soft smile when he saw my hands had propped themselves indignantly on my hips as I glared at him.

"Alright, we can do the room ourselves," Edward surrendered simply, with a shrug. Then he glanced at me slyly, "But how about to repaint the outside of the house?"

I opened my mouth to refuse, to insist we could do all the work ourselves, but then my jaw snapped closed as I realized what he had said.

"You want to repaint it?" I asked him, confused.

"Well, not _pea soup_," he said with a grin and a roll of his eyes, handing the tabs back to me. Then his face grew serious and slightly nervous as he continued, "But the paint on the outside is peeling badly and that'll rot the wood pretty quick."

I could see the apprehension in his face, and I wondered curiously if he thought I would refuse him. Of course, it wouldn't matter if I did; it was _his_ house. Still, for some reason, it seemed to matter to him that I approve of the changes.

"Makes sense," I shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe someone here can point us in the right direction."

I was sure that if no one here knew of any quality painters, that Jasper would certainly be able to help us get into contact with one. I smiled at him encouragingly.

Edward smiled back, slightly strained. "Maybe," he said quietly, nodding vaguely.

I cocked my head at him curiously when he refused to meet my eyes. Suddenly, I choked out a laugh and hit him lightly on the arm, understanding is sudden reluctance.

"You totally want to do it yourself, you hypocrite," I smirked with a grin.

Edward met my eyes then, grinning and relieved. He gave me a little, innocent shrug in reply and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Changing the subject tactfully, he asked, "So no blue, then?"

The smile faded from my face slowly and I looked back at the wall of sample colors, torn. I knew that my comment about the color had tainted it for the both of us, and if the room was saturated with it, it would always look like the nursery that we never painted.

Still, I could hear the words he had spoken in the car as clearly as if he had just repeated them now.

_Why don't we just see if we can't compromise?_

I had never wanted anything more.

"What if we painted the ceiling blue?" I asked him, pulling the tab out from the wall again, looking at the color as if I had forgotten what it looked like.

"I'm sorry, Bella," Edward said with a smile in his voice. "But that just sounds _ugly_."

My eyes snapped back up to his, taking in the lightness of his expression with relief.

"I wasn't finished," I huffed back, insistent. "What if the ceiling was blue...wait for it...with white clouds?" I asked him, imagining the what the finished room would look like, a grin crawling across my lips. "I could _totally_ master clouds."

Edward crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you twelve?" he demanded to know, looking very much like an adult.

I waved my hand at him in dismissal. "Tell me it doesn't sound like an adorable idea," I dared him.

His lips twitched when he admitted, "It sounds great."

I gave him a dazzling, pleased smile and in that instant I could see a piece of him that I, in our entire friendship, marriage, life, had never seen before. It was the Edward that would have demanded rocket ship wallpaper in his room if he had been given the choice. It was the Edward that used to love bugs and trees and the outdoors and didn't care about that girl Tanya Denali because he just didn't want her. It was the Edward who was a child, who I had never before known or cared existed, who had been hidden and forgotten and ignored by both of us for years.

And now I looked at him and I could see no one else.

*

Everything was dark when I returned.

I stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind me lightly before leaning back against it. I could feel weakness creeping throughout my body, making me wish I had asked Jessica to stay with me. But the look on her face when I told her she could leave assured me that I had made the right decision in sending her away. She didn't want to be near me. She didn't care or she couldn't be bothered or she wasn't looking for the responsibility of being there.

Even when I had my friends, I had no one.

I didn't turn on the light. Instead, I breathed in and out, my back pressed against the door, my shoulder blades digging painfully into the wood. I could feel the pang of my empty stomach, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything all day. Had I eaten yesterday? I couldn't remember.

I pushed myself upright and straightened before walking to the room. I glanced at the refrigerator for a moment, the thought of eating sending a wave of nausea through me. I shook my head in annoyance and headed towards the bedroom, walking slowly as I navigated around the table and chairs in the dark.

When I opened the door, I halted.

I could see a black, looming shape sitting in the chair beside the bed, perfectly still and silent in the darkness. I could see the angles of his shoulders, hunched in defeat; elbows propped up on thin legs; long, graceful fingers tangled in the wild hair of a bowed head.

It was a pose that spoke only of anguish.

I stood there silently, frozen, my eyes locked on the tortured man across the room. It didn't take long before his head lifted to face me, hearing my gasping breath and shifting weight. Our eyes locked, even through the veil of night, green sparking grey.

"Are you okay?"

I didn't know who I had expected to speak first, but when he finally asked me the question, my entire body jerked back in shock. He noticed the movement, his eyes trailing up and down my body without expression.

My voice quivered when I replied, "I don't know."

He stood up, his hands running through his hair once more before releasing the chaotic mass. I could feel my entire body shaking as my eyes locked on the waves and points of his hair, silhouetted against the faint light coming from the street lamps outside.

He took a step towards me, his motions slow and cautious. "Can I get you anything?"

His inquiry didn't register. I heard nothing except for his voice.

"You're still here," I breathed, incredulous.

I watched as he shifted uncomfortably, glancing down to the floor, then back up at me. The lines of his face were faint in the dim, but every movement in his posture was apologetic.

"I just wanted to make sure…" he began to explain. He cut himself off and shook his head. His words were quick when he spoke, "I can leave."

Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance between us, brushing past me to the bedroom door at my back. I whipped around, my eyes fixed on him, unable to utter a single word of protest in my surprise.

When he reached the entrance to the living room, he paused and turned back, looking at me over his shoulder.

"I'll call you later?" His question was so timid, almost pleading.

I opened and closed my mouth several times before I finally choked out, "Why?" My voice broke on the word and I took a step back, into the room and away from him.

"Bella," he said softly, his entire body twisting back around to face me. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, but he moved towards me again slowly.

I could see one of his arms lifting slowly, reaching out to touch me like I was a wild animal that he didn't want to frighten.

I shied away from him, feeling my eyes start to burn and sting.

"Why do you love me?" I gasped.

Confusion flashed across his face, even in the dark. I could see his brow furrow with concern and he continued to move forward. "Bella?"

"I'm not a good person, Edward," I choked out, tears splashing against the skin of my cheeks as I struggled to breathe evenly. "I'm wretched and selfish and awful and ugly. I've _never_ been kind to you. _Never_ been a friend to you. There's nothing…" My words caught in my throat when Edward's hand wrapped gently around my arm, holding onto me like he wasn't really expecting me to be there. "_Nothing_ in me that's…" I fought, the tears falling rapidly, uncontrollably, as his other hand smoothed up my arm to my shoulder, pulling me close to him so that we were inches apart. I whispered desperately, "Why are you still _here_?"

Edward shushed me quietly, his thumb caressing my jaw through the tears. I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest as he smiled down at me sadly. "I can't leave you," he said, like it was an answer.

I took a deep breath. "Do you want to?"

Edward moaned quietly, as if he was in pain. Then I felt him pulling me the last few inches into his chest, pressing me close and wrapping his arms around my back. I inhaled, still quivering and ragged.

Then I heard a whisper of hot breath against my hair. "Never."

I drew away from him slightly, my eyes lifting to meet his. The green was bright through my tears.

"After everything…" I began, tasting the salt on my lips.

"It doesn't matter." He cut me off, his voice insistent.

His arms tightened around me and he was guiding me to the chair where he had been sitting. He said nothing as he lifted me into his arms like a child, sitting down with me stretched across his lap. My hand locked behind his neck and I leaned against his shoulder.

I felt cool lips against my forehead. "None of it matters," he whispered. "I'll love you as long as you'll let me."

My eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing against the skin of his neck.

I could feel the tension and the contentment of his body beneath mine, could feel him needing me as much as I needed him. It didn't matter that our need was different and separate, only that it consumed us with the same intensity.

"I couldn't do it," I told him quietly, no longer crying.

I could feel Edward's head shift to look at me. "Couldn't do what?" he asked, confused and comforting.

Without looking up to meet his eyes, unable to say the words, I dragged one hand from his neck, down his shoulder, along his arm. The muscles in his forearm flexed as my fingers danced across skin slowly, making my way to his hand that was resting firmly on the small of my back.

I tangled my fingers with his and drew his hand around, pressing it against my stomach lightly.

I felt his entire body go rigid immediately, understanding.

Finally, I let myself look up at him.

"Stay with me?"


	29. The Detente

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** Enjoy this chapter and the next two. Fluff is a dying breed in this story (even if it _is_ tension-laced).

* * *

**The Detente**

I stretched my legs out in front of me, my thighs aching in protest. Setting my feet down on the ground, I relaxed my entire body, resting easily on the porch stairs. The sun was warm as it beat down on my legs and I could feel heat through the denim. A pleasant fatigue worked its way through my limbs, rendering me blissfully immobile.

I heard the front door open behind me and footsteps on the wood. I craned my neck around, a small smile touching my mouth as Edward made his way back outside towards me, balancing two plates and two glasses of water.

Returning the smile easily, he handed one of the plates to me before sitting down at my side. I couldn't really say that Edward's face lit up when he saw me…not the same way I was sure mine did. But that pained, controlled expression had begun to fade when his eyes fell on me. His body would relax and he would look…not happy, but _interested_. Like being here with me was more than some duty he had to carry out.

I, on the other hand, had begun to measure time in the days that passed until I got to see him again.

Since we had arrived in Colorado, my life had been centered around Edward, whether I had wanted it to be or not. Hours spent alone were punctuated by his presence at the end of the day; days of solitude washed in tension as I waited for him to return home. Even when I had wanted to avoid him, wanted to ignore him, wanted to hate him, he was still the only certainty my life held.

Everything was different now.

In the past few weeks, the tension between us had all but evaporated. Everything remained unsaid, lingering inches below the surface, and I knew that one day it would become unavoidable. For now, though, we made small talk and cracked jokes and smiled and laughed. It was something that had been rare between us from the beginning.

Every Saturday morning I could feel my heart beating out a cold sweat, anticipating and dreading his arrival. My ears would perk and my head would swing around when I heard the crunch of tires on the driveway. The first weekend he brought the paint up in Emmett's truck, I had twined my arms around his neck without thinking. The violent flush of my face and his muttered assurances that it was fine stopped me from doing it again.

Edward gently set down the full glasses on the first step, careful not to bump them with his long legs as he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, one step above me.

I looked down at the sandwich, lifting it from the plate eagerly and taking a huge bite without any hesitation.

"God bless you, Edward," I mumbled and choked, moaning gratefully through a mouthful of sticky peanut butter.

Edward looked down at me and smirked, amused. "Not a problem."

I grinned back at him as I swallowed with some difficulty. Taking another large bite greedily, I was surprised at how much I had missed the simple, young taste of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After skipping breakfast in the morning in favor of helping Edward strip the left side of the house, I was sure any food would have tasted good. But this? This was heavenly.

"Not that I really mind," Edward commented, biting into his own sandwich. "But is there any particular reason why you're wimping out on me so early today? I mean, we haven't been working for that long. At least, not compared to most weekends."

"I don't know," I replied with a shrug, grabbing my water and washing the thick film of peanut butter from the back of my throat. "I've been spending a lot of time with Alice this week. I think it's starting to catch up with me."

"Working?" he wondered.

"Mostly," I agreed with a nod. "She's also been teaching me to ride. It's a lot of fun but I get pretty sore…"

I grinned at him and was surprised to see his eyes narrow slightly. He looked away from me, towards the Whitlock's cabin.

"Do you fall?" he asked, his voice vague and detached.

"Not yet." I chuckled at his concern and poorly feigned nonchalance. "But I figure it's only a matter of time."

He nodded. "Seems a little risky."

"I'm careful," I told him, straightening a little beside him. Then I leaned over and bumped my shoulder against his playfully. "It's really fun, Edward. You should come by and try it sometime."

A hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth and he looked down to his sandwich; then turned back to me. "I'm not much of a rider."

"You've ridden before?" I asked him, surprised.

"A few times," Edward confirmed with a nod. "My father loved it."

His smile fell at the mention of his father.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. I knew almost nothing about Carlisle Cullen, about what he was like, what he enjoyed, what he detested, and the effect he had on people around him. I wanted desperately to speak to Edward freely, to offer condolences, to ask questions and learn what I could about the man who had raised my husband and who Esme had loved so dearly.

As far as we had come in the past weeks, I _still_ didn't feel like I had the right to talk about Carlisle Cullen.

"Alice said he was thrilled when she and Jasper set up over the hill," I recalled the only piece of information I had been given about Edward's late father, my voice sympathetic. "Some of the land the horses live on belongs to your family, right?"

"It _all_ used to belong to us."

"What?" My eyebrows shot up curiously as I plopped my sandwich down on my plate and reached for more water.

"My father sold the land to Alice and Jasper for their horses and their cabin," Edward explained, his expression growing distant. "He gave them everything."

"I didn't know that," I said quietly.

We were silent for several moments. I studied Edward's expression carefully, watching him look out at the land before us. I wondered if it bothered him, Carlisle's generosity. _He gave them everything._ The way he had said it was quiet and almost bitter. Edward's father had obviously loved Alice and Jasper as his own children, where his only son had practically become a stranger.

_Because of me,_ I reminded myself.

I was the reason for Edward's estrangement from his family. I was the spark that had caused the jealous grief he felt now.

I battled the urge to reach out and brush some of the hair from his face.

I looked away at last, following his eyes, trying to see what he saw. I knew it was pointless. There was nothing physical drawing his gaze.

"So you like it?" I heard his voice suddenly. My eyes snapped back to his and I cocked my head to one side in question. He clarified, "Riding horses?"

There was no hesitation in my response. "I really love it," I told him enthusiastically, forgetting almost immediately the sadness and pity I had been feeling moments before. He had always been so good at distracting me. "It's not like anything I've ever done before."

His answering smile was small, but there was a hint of laughter in his words. "A little different than riding a motorcycle?"

My mind lingered for barely a second on Jacob's smiling face, teaching me to ride dirt bikes out in the La Push reservation.

I was surprised how quickly I was able to push the image aside.

"It's weird but it's…not even _similar_ to that," I replied hesitantly. I continued, my words staggered and struggling. "I mean, you're not just some _thing_ sitting on their back. There's this weird…connection. I take care of them and they take care of me, and it's almost like…" I shook my head, not knowing how to explain it. Then I added softly, "I've never felt anything like it…that mutual trust."

Edward stared at me for a long time, his face unreadable.

Finally, he spoke with a small smile. "You look like my father."

"What?" I blinked, confused.

"When you talk about them," he explained. "You get this _look_ on your face…you look like Carlisle."

His eyes were intense on mine, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I felt heat rushing to my cheeks, waves of fire painting my skin red under his stare. I looked away from him awkwardly, not knowing what to say in response.

Edward wasn't looking at me when he said quietly, "I'm glad you're doing something that you enjoy."

I glanced over at him, embarrassed. "Yeah."

Tension began to crawl back over us, inevitable and sure. We avoided each other's eyes and I struggled to find something more to say. I wanted to ask him about Carlisle, about why he loved horses so much, about why Edward was so afraid of them. I wanted to talk to him like it was simple, like we were friends, like everything could be easy between us. I wanted to thank him for being glad and taking an interest and sitting beside me.

I couldn't force the words out.

In the thick of the quiet, I grabbed at my half-eaten sandwich and shoved another large bite in my mouth. Without even thinking about it, I moaned quietly, the taste strong and nostalgic and reminding me of how hungry I was.

I felt Edward's eyes back on me, light and amused once more.

"Oh man," I groaned in appreciation. "I haven't had one of these in so long…"

"I haven't seen you eat one in years," Edward agreed.

"Not since I was pregnant, probably," I said without thinking.

My mouth snapped shut and my eyes immediately snapped to Edward, but he appeared un-phased by the comment.

"Sounds about right." He nodded. Then he smiled a little when he added, "I always thought that you were turning _into_ a child instead of having one."

"My god, it felt like that!" I laughed, relief washing through me.

His face didn't seem angry or uncomfortable or sad. He looked like he was remembering.

I remembered, too.

I remembered ducking out of class to go eat samosas at the little Indian place down the street.

I remembered getting up in the middle of the night and shaking Edward awake, insisting that we go to the grocery store for hummus and watermelon.

I remembered calling him to grab some kind of take-out on the way home from work, sure that I would die if I didn't have it.

I remembered, most of all, waiting for Edward to get home.

The door would click open and I would hear the bags rustling in his arms. No matter where I was in his large apartment, I would hear it and I would come sprinting out, sliding and skidding in my socks as I barreled towards him.

Without looking at him, I would seize the bags out of his hands eagerly.

"Did you get it?" I asked him, throwing the food up on the counter and rummaging through the boxes desperately.

"Hello to you, too." I heard him reply with a smile in his voice as I opened boxes at random.

"Hi," I replied, my greeting clipped. "Did you get it?"

Edward's chuckle ruffled my hair, his arms wrapping gently around me from behind, his chest pressing against my back. His words rumbled against my skin as he assured me, "Of course I got it."

I pointed to each of the boxes in turn, mentally checking them off the list. "The dumplings and the Mu Shu and that chicken stuff…_did you get that chicken stuff_?" I asked him, horrified, as I resumed my search.

"I did," he told me, just as I was opening the last box. The smell hit me and I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt a light kiss on the side of my neck and his palm rest flatly against my stomach. "And just how many babies have you got in there?"

"Just one." I smiled and turned in his arms. His hands released me and moved to the counter as he leaned over me. "One very hungry baby who _needs_ that chicken."

My voice was breathy and content and at his small smile, I reached up and placed my lips against his. His mouth was soft and moving against mine, his hand trailing up to cup my chin tenderly. I parted my lips and I felt his sharp gasp in my mouth, pressing into me a little harder.

My fingers trailed along his belt, teasing at his shirt slightly, making him shudder against me. My lips curled into a smile around his as I felt him reluctantly draw back.

"You taste like peanut butter," he commented when he pulled away, his voice raspy and a little breathless.

I shrugged, turning out of his hold and grabbing a plate so that I could begin piling the food out of the boxes. "I got hungry while I was waiting, so I made a sandwich."

"Peanut butter?" he asked with a laugh, moving away from me to gather food on his own plate.

"And jelly!" I added happily.

His eyebrows rose. "And now you want Chinese?" he hedged doubtfully.

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?" I asked him, genuinely curious. I lifted my heaping full plate and carried it over to the couch, mumbling under my breath, "I wonder how that chicken would taste _with_ peanut butter…"

Edward laughed loudly and followed me over to the couch, sitting down beside me and handing me a pair of chopsticks. "You are, without a doubt, the most disgusting person I have ever met."

I opened my mouth to retort, but opted to fill it with Mu Shu instead. I could feel Edward's eyes on me the whole time, watching with fascination as I scarfed down my food quickly. When I was finished, I lifted my eyes to his with a satisfied grin and then glanced casually down at his food. He rolled his eyes and moved his dinner out of my reach, continuing to eat at a maddeningly slow pace.

When he was finally done, he pulled my plate from my hands and brought our dishes over to the sink before he packed up the unfinished boxes of Chinese food and put them in the fridge. I opened my mouth to protest when I felt a strange, uncomfortable 'pop' from inside my stomach.

I gasped quietly and placed my hand over the alien movement as if to stifle it. I looked down, my eyes locked on my belly, and I could feel my entire face grow pale.

I wasn't surprised; it wasn't the first time I had felt it move.

Still, every time I felt it, felt the evidence of the small life growing inside me, felt the weight of what I was doing give a gentle nudge, I felt my heart skip a beat and my entire body tense with fear and trepidation.

"Are you okay?" I heard Edward's voice, soft in my ear as he slid back down beside me. His arm brushed against mine lightly, all warm and comfort.

"Fine," I muttered, unconvincingly.

Edward sighed, and I knew he wasn't fooled. His right arm snaked behind me, pulling me to his side tightly. His left arm stretched across my stomach, his fingers sliding around mine and easing them away, replacing my palm with his over the little nudges. When he felt the movement beneath my skin he dropped his head, gently kissing my shoulder.

"Are you ever scared?" I asked him, my voice quiet.

"No," he said confidently, his eyes lifting to mine. Then, as if it was the most simple explanation in the world, "I don't allow myself to be."

"_I_ am," I admitted, my voice wavering. "All the time." I looked back at him, pleading and honest. "Sometimes I wonder if I've gone insane."

I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, his entire face growing solemn. His voice was gravel and hesitant when he asked with a swallow, "Are you regretting this?"

I looked at him for a beat.

"No," I told him, firmly.

I leaned over and pressed my lips to his once more, feeling him melt beneath me as he allowed himself to be reassured. When I pulled away, his eyes were soft on mine and when I leaned my head on his shoulder, I felt his chest heave a sigh.

We sat in pleasant silence for several moments.

"Do you think I should take…like…a class?" I asked him, suddenly.

I could feel Edward draw back slightly to look at me. "A class?"

I turned my head to look at him, resting my chin against his chest. "A birthing class," I explained, unsure. "You know, for breathing and stuff?"

Edward's brows furrowed. "Do you _want_ to?"

I could tell he wasn't opposed to the idea, simply curious.

"I don't know," I shrugged, feeling stupid. "I just…I don't want to be a screamer."

Edward snorted lightly and I flushed in embarrassment, knowing he would tease me for my vanity, as he always did. Sensing my annoyance with him, he leaned over and pressed a kiss against my temple.

"You're not a screamer," he assured me. "You're more of a moaner…" Then he smiled and kissed my cheek. "And a talker…" Another kiss on my jaw. "And occasionally a shoulder-biter…" I could feel the grin on his lips when they skimmed a hot trail across my neck.

I pulled away from him, laughing.

"Shut up," I demanded playfully, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Ow."

I remembered everything about that night, and many others, with remarkable clarity, remarkable detail. They weren't memories I ever thought I would be able to recall, memories that I could summon to mind at will.

But when I was around him, I found myself _wanting_ to remember what it was like, how it had been between us. I didn't know if I thought I could find answers in the past, find an explanation for what went so horribly wrong. I knew…I _knew_ what had gone wrong. And yet everything playing before me felt so separate from my control.

Could I have changed anything?

My eyes fell on Edward – the Edward who was so different than that loving, laughing man – and wondered if he remembered that night, too.

He was smiling at me, his arm next to mine but not touching it.

I could feel, for the first time in a long time, the ache of the space between us. I couldn't touch him. He had been my friend and my lover, he was my husband, we had been married for years, we had made love countless times.

_And I can't touch him._

Suddenly, I hated myself for it.

"Things weren't always bad between us, right?" I asked him all of a sudden, my voice quiet as I looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

His eyes snapped to mine, looking surprised at the question, at the broad depth it encompassed. I saw the surprise morph to fear and anger before his face washed clean of every hint of emotion. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he turned away from me, his brow set and unmoving.

After several minutes of excruciating silence, minutes where I never once turned away from him, he stood up abruptly.

Looking down at me, he cleared his throat and said, "I think I'm going to…"

He didn't finish his thought. He nodded to the side of the house we had been working on before he headed inside with his plate.

I sat on the porch, motionless, listening to him drop his plate into the sink with a clatter, as if he had lost his grip on it. I thought I heard a muffled curse from inside, but I didn't go to check on him. Instead, I looked out across the hills, feeling the warmth and the ache in my legs, waiting for him to come back out.

He walked past me without saying anything, heading over to the side of the house to resume his work without a backward glance.

I wasn't sure how long I sat out there on the porch, watching him. The rest of my sandwich remained untouched, a wave of frustration crashed up and lodged itself firmly in my chest.

The only thing more painful than watching him walk away from me, than watching him shut me out over and over again, was the knowledge that I had done this to myself. The reason I was still sitting on the steps, the reason I couldn't follow after him, the reason I couldn't demand answers could be settled nowhere but firmly on my shoulders. Maybe guilt or cowardice or pride rendered me immobile.

We could talk about everything except for what mattered.

Edward didn't look in my direction.

It must have been close to a half hour before I finally stood and brought my plate and glass inside. I threw the remainder of my sandwich in the trash and set my dishes down in the sink next to Edward's. I rinsed them off quickly, turning the water up as hot as it would go until it scorched my hands raw red.

I considered what Edward's reaction would be if I offered to go outside and help him now.

I remembered a pot of soup crashing against plaster, red streams running down the wall like blood.

I decided to make dinner instead.

I spent the next few hours grating cheese and slicing vegetables, scrounging around reading recipes for fresh salsa. Moments of ridiculous panic and discovery as I cobbled together the Mexican sauce, as gracefully as I made everything else. My ability to follow recipes without destroying the food, the kitchen, or my health had improved even while my confidence in my ability had not. Everything I made, I still approached with wide-eyed expectation of failure.

It was so much more satisfying when I got it right.

I had almost completely forgotten about Edward's presence outside until I heard the back door swing open and closed gently. I looked up from the soft tortillas I was pressing together, momentarily startled.

Edward walked in from the dimming light of the day, wiping a sweaty brow and meeting my eyes with a small, exhausted smile.

I glanced down at his ragged shirt, splattered with paint and torn from use. His hands were also filthy and raw as he wiped them on his jeans. I could smell sweat and work and heat coming off of him, which was distinctive but not unpleasant.

"How did the rest of the side go?" I asked him politely as he made his way over to me. I turned back to the food, trying my hardest not to look at him.

"Still a work in progress, but it's happening," Edward told me, staggering and satisfied. Then I felt his body close to mine, his hands on the counter as he leaned against it. "What _is_ that smell?" he asked, his voice comically intense.

"Quesadillas," I shrugged, smiling a little.

Edward groaned softly. "It smells incredible, Bella."

I looked over at him when I heard his praise, surprised at how close he had gotten. When my eyes lifted to his, he shifted back slightly as if he was just realizing his own proximity as well. It was a small movement, but we were both aware of it.

I turned away from him again.

"They should be ready in twenty minutes or so," I said shortly. I smirked a little when I added with a sniff, "You should take a shower or something…"

"That's actually a fantastic idea," Edward replied, ignoring the dig.

He smiled and excused himself, heading out of the kitchen to the main stairs. I continued to cook as I heard the shower turn on. I set the table when I heard the water shut off. I took the quesadillas out of the oven as I heard light steps coming back down the stairs.

In what had seemed like seconds, Edward had returned looking clean and strangely fresh. His eyes sparked and eager when he saw that I was bringing the plate of quesadillas over to the table. He was wearing clean pants that were loose around his hips, a clean blue shirt, and his hair was damp, unbrushed, and shooting off in every direction imaginable.

He was that little boy again.

I couldn't help but smile when he pulled up his chair enthusiastically, all the tension from earlier had vanished once again. His eyes fell shut as he inhaled the smell of melted cheese, avocado, chicken, and peppers. When he opened them again, they dropped down to the bowl of fresh salsa I had managed to master eventually.

His mouth dropped open a little and I half expected him to start drooling.

I couldn't remember him ever liking Mexican food this much before.

"Here you go," I said, placing several of the quesdillas on the plate in front of him, before turning to head back to my seat.

"Thank you." Edward's voice was incredibly sincere.

I chuckled a little when I sat down, secretly flattered and proud. It was amazing how different it was to eat with him on these Saturdays, considering the way we had been only months ago. Meals in silence and bitterness, food turned sour by the discontent spread thick throughout the house. Everything was home and light and fine now.

I glanced up at Edward as I took my first bite of the baked crispy tortilla. I was expecting to find him piling food into his mouth by the handfuls or licking his plate clean. After all the work he had done today, it wouldn't have shocked me in the least.

My eyes widened a little in surprise when they fell on Edward's motionless form, tense and staring down at his plate with a strange expression on his face. Suddenly, his gaze shifted up to me. I saw him swallow a little, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to puzzle something out.

"What?" I asked, placing the quesadilla back on the plate, flushing red as I was struck suddenly self-conscious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Edward allowed my question to linger in the air for a long time.

I could see him thinking, though. Considering what to say, puzzling and weighing and wondering. I wasn't sure I had ever seen him so uncomfortable. Any discomfort he had felt in our last few years together was always accompanied with anger or irritation. This was something else entirely.

He was deciding something. About me or about himself.

At last, he spoke. His voice was so quiet I found myself leaning forward a little.

"Things weren't always bad between us," I heard him say softly. He paused and looked away from me before he continued with a small sigh, "and they're not bad now."

I blinked back at him, staggered.

Edward shifted in his seat, fingers picking at his food with that same tension, and I could see the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing, almost as if they were itching to snatch the words he had spoken out of the air and take them back.

My chest felt warm and I didn't want him to.

Finally, I forced a smile onto my face and the laugh that escaped my lips sounded genuine because it was. "You're just saying that because I made you dinner," I teased him lightly, wishing he would look at me.

At my words, he did.

Then he was grinning at me, accepting my offer. "It didn't hurt," he played.

After that, we spoke with complete ease and friendliness. He had answered the question I hadn't been ready to ask with a reply he hadn't been ready to give. But we pushed past it into our comfortable, false camaraderie that we didn't want and couldn't escape.

He told me a little about his work at the clinic, about some of the patients he had seen throughout the week, and about how he greatly preferred it to the work at the hospital. He told me names and cases, about co-workers and cafeteria food. He told me nothing about him, about anything resembling what he had confided that night on the living room couch.

We had arrived at the surface.

I told him a little about the horses and the work I did with Alice, about the satisfaction of the chores I was doing, and about slowly learning to ride. I told him about each one of the horses, recalling their personalities with a grin and finding myself laughing softly as I described Santana to him. He asked me if that was the large red horse he had seen me with, concerned that he would hurt me.

"I do _not_ ride Santana," I scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. "I'm really not even close to that level."

"What do you mean?" Edward's brow furrowed, not understanding.

"Santana's more of a…challenge…than the other horses," I hedged with a shrug. "Right now I'm just working on not falling off of a perfectly behaved horse."

Edward's eyes narrowed. "He's dangerous?"

"Misunderstood," I corrected.

"Maybe you shouldn't get on him."

"Maybe I won't."

Edward was quiet then.

We spoke a little more after that, about our plans for the house and that if it rained next weekend like it was predicted to, we could work on painting the cold room. The air wasn't tense, but it had become suddenly subdued as the evening wore on. I cleared the table when conversation began to dwindle.

When I turned the water on to begin washing the dishes, I jumped in surprise as Edward walked up beside me to help. We worked side by side, never touching shoulders or brushing fingers, seeming unable to speak at such a close distance. I didn't pass dishes to him and he never handed one to me. We each washed and dried our own, separately, never crossing paths.

The tension that crackled between us was different.

When we were finished, I turned the water off with a sigh that almost sounded like a gasp. I backed away from the sink quickly, needing to occupy my hands and pretending to brush invisible crumbs off the kitchen table.

Edward dried his hands slowly on the dishtowel and I could feel his eyes on my back.

I heard his voice from behind me. "Mind if I crash in Rose's room tonight?"

I whipped around a little too quickly, eyebrows shooting up and my mouth open. Edward was avoiding my eyes carefully, his entire frame rigid, hands clenching behind him as they wrapped around the edge of the sink.

"Please," I said, a little too forcefully. "Make yourself…" I stopped, the words dying in my throat. _Make yourself at home._ Instead I finished, "comfortable."

Edward nodded with a small smile in thanks.

As he turned to head upstairs once more, he said, "Thanks for dinner, Bella."

"Thanks for lunch," I grinned.

"Anytime."

I watched his quiet form make its way out of the kitchen and around the corner. I heard soft footfalls as he ascended the staircase. I listened as a bedroom door creaked opened and clicked shut again.

The bedroom door that was next to mine.


	30. The Breakdown

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **About the Author's Note for last chapter? You all should relax a little. Heh.

I've always been up front (I think) about the fact that this story is fairly miserable and may have something of a bittersweet ending. I would like to continue to be up front with you and address the many calls, requests, pleas, and expectations for lemons in this story. If that's what you're waiting for, you will be waiting a long time. I have nothing against them and enjoy reading them as much as the next person, but that is not the story I'm writing. I'm sorry if that's what you've been reading this story hoping to reach, but lemons will not be the end-all, be-all of this plot nor will I use them to serve the purpose of further complications and angst. I have exactly one lemon slated for this story at the moment and it will be neither graphic nor sweet.

I really am sorry.

Anyway, Happy Passover, Happy Easter, or Happy April 4th.

* * *

**The Breakdown**

I laid on my back, my shoulder blades digging into the soft mattress of the bed I hadn't occupied in a little over a month. The soft patter of rain fell against the windows, soothing and consistent noise. I listened to it and breathed deep and steady, my chest rising and falling with an even cadence. The warm spring air crept into the room in thick, damp waves.

It wasn't cold anymore.

We had finally finished the cold room yesterday and I couldn't bear to leave it. As I walked Edward to his car that night, he insisted with a laugh that I not sleep in it because of the paint fumes. Grudgingly, I agreed. Still, as soon as I awoke on Sunday morning I was back in there, lying on the bed we had returned to its place, breathing and smiling and looking.

I gazed up at the carefully painted clouds and smiled a little at the irony. The May storm could not touch the flawless, perfect blue swept across the plaster of the ceiling. The blue that Edward had picked out, saying that there was no better sky than deep, vibrant spring; with clouds whose white reflected the blue along with greys and yellows in each dip and swoop.

The walls were the green that I had chosen, and that Edward had reluctantly warmed to. They were light and airy and olive and when the sun blasted in through the windows in the morning, the green brightened cheerfully. All the molding and trim had thin lines of deep, forest green tracing the walls with a lush, contrasting accent.

The more I looked at it, the more it struck me as very lovely and very sophisticated. The colors were calm and wisdom and enduring years and they contrasted beautifully with the hope and innocent youth of the blue and clouds on the ceiling. I smiled a little to myself as I realized that for this room – and perhaps for _only_ this room – our roles had reversed. I had been the sensible, elegant adult and he had been the eager, transient child. I couldn't remember a time when our dynamic had been so completely shifted.

It could have been exactly what we had needed.

The room was lovely.

When Edward and I had been painting the clouds onto the ceiling, I had worried that it would look too much like a nursery. I would watch him carefully, my eyes flickering and reading his body language constantly, trying to gauge his mood whenever I could. He didn't seem tense or worried or sad. As the room started to come together, I relaxed a little as well.

This wasn't the room of a child. It didn't belong to the lost, aching ghosts of what had come before. It wasn't even the room of Edward's past, with every corner and crevice pointing to a boy I had never known.

It was a meadow.

It was ease and beauty; a gap in the forest; a clearing that allowed light to filter through the trees and warm the earth below. It was a room for two people who were breaking and trying and hiding and fighting and who desperately needed a respite.

I heaved a sigh as I pushed myself up on the bed, lifting my body so that I was sitting. I glanced at the clock on the small table next to me, and realized I would have to leave soon to make it into the city by two. I felt my heart give a tiny stutter at the thought and I stood up, pushing myself away from the comfort of that bed.

With a final glance at the cold room, no longer cold, I made my way back to the master bedroom to change.

I stood in front of my closet for several minutes, unsure of what to wear, feeling all the nervousness of a first date. I tried to shake it, rolling my eyes and telling myself that we had been married for years, that we knew each other, that there was no more romantic feeling between us anyway, and that there never truly had been on my part.

Still, I felt the familiar desire to impress and, more specifically, to impress _him_.

The desire to impress and the tense uncertainty of what would.

Before Edward had left last night, he had suggested that I meet him in the city for a late lunch to celebrate our completion of the cold room. The outside of the house still had a long way to go, but the room was a definite milestone. It had taken nearly a month of our collaborated efforts on the weekends and my steady, unrelenting work throughout the week, but I hadn't bowed under the challenge. For the first time in my life, I had risen to meet it.

Finally, I grabbed a nice pair of jeans and a clean blue v-neck sweater that was light enough for the warm air. I brushed my hair more than was necessary, trying to arrange the stubborn, independent waves and curls into some kind of order. I brushed makeup across my face for the first time since I had left New York.

On my way out the door, I grabbed a light spring jacket to shield me against the rain that was falling in torrents now. I clutched the hood close to my head when I sprinted out to my truck and slid inside the warm cab. The moisture that had clung to my body immediately began to fog the windows, and I turned the defroster on its highest setting before I pulled out of the driveway.

It didn't take ten minutes before I was breezing through the small downtown of Hartsel, heading down route 24, which would lead me directly into Colorado Springs. The windshield wipers were straining furiously against the downpour, splattering across the glass in an unrelenting barrage.

I smiled a little, thinking that the horses were probably perturbed at this abrupt change in weather and I wondered if Alice would leave them inside or turn them out into the muddy, sloppy field. I had asked her one afternoon if she wanted me to bring the horses in when a light April shower had begun without warning. The rain was soft and easy then, and Alice had simply laughed and told me, "Horses are waterproof, Bella."

I chuckled a little to myself at the memory.

It was so much easier to forget where I was going, to leave my nerves behind, when I thought of Alice and the horses. My fear and discomfort was all but erased when my mind turned to the image of Santana, ears back and grumpy, coat darkened to a deep rust red from the rain, drops of water sliding off his pink and white nose onto the soaking ground at his feet.

I wondered if I would be back from the city in time to see him later tonight. I would enjoy brushing the mud from his coat after it dried; watching him come clean under my hands was always so satisfying. Rich copper sheen growing brighter as I looked on, the lights from the barn bouncing off his coat happily. And of course he was always more eager to stand in his stall, more receptive of my attentions, after he'd been stuck in the rain all day.

I was torn somewhat abruptly out of my thoughts by a sudden rattling under my hands.

The steering wheel had begun to jerk and shake, the truck's engine spluttering and protesting loudly. My eyes widened and panic gripped me as I tapped the gas a little and nothing happened. Biting my lip hard against the fear, I slowed the truck and swerved over into the breakdown lane.

The truck came to an abrupt stop and I tore the keys out of the ignition, scared to death. My first instinct was to glance at the time, worried about how I could get a hold of Edward to tell him I would be late to lunch.

Then it slowly dawned on me that I couldn't get a hold of _anyone_.

I didn't have my cellphone; it was useless up in Hartsel and I didn't even think to bring it with me. I doubted it still worked anyway, assuming Edward had cancelled the plan and stopped paying the bill since it had remained untouched in my room for the past few months.

I looked out at the rain beyond the car and felt totally and completely at a loss for what to do. It was almost disturbing how quickly I assumed the role of helpless damsel, and how incredibly involuntary it was. It was the most ingrained part of my nature: to sit idly in the truck's cab, shielded from the rain, and wait to be rescued.

I could feel tears start to burn and slide down my flushed cheeks, frustration in my chest building to an almost unbearable point of _not knowing_.

I just didn't _know_ what to do.

There had been a time when I wouldn't have _wanted_ to know what to do. I would have been content to wait here for a rescuer and all too happy to complain if he or she didn't arrive immediately. The truck's breakdown would have been in no way my fault and in no way my responsibility to fix. And all the years I had spent living the life of that girl had not prepared me for the moment when I no longer wanted it. It had not taught me to be resourceful or useful or handy or cunning. It had not taught me to be everything I now wanted to be.

There was nothing to be done but to sit idly in the truck's cab, shielded from the rain, and wait for a rescue that I didn't want. A rescue that I wanted to perform for myself.

Instinctively, and with nothing else to do, my hand reached over to the glove compartment and flipped it open, fingers searching for leather-bound smooth and ragged edges of paper.

I pulled the small poetry book onto my lap and flipped it open, allowing the pages to find themselves on the strip of silk that kept my place.

Over the past month I had read it in bits and pieces, unease gripping me at the thought of him finding it in the house and taking it away from me, hiding it from him in my truck. I was nearly halfway done reading it, all of the poems were ones that I knew – favorites of mine from school – and they were familiar and relevant and full of love.

Some of the dates beside them I understood, but most I couldn't summon up the memory to accompany poets' words.

I recognized the date on this one.

_When you are old and gray and full of sleep / And nodding by the fire, take down this book / And slowly read, and dream of the soft look / Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep_

I smiled a little, tracing the words and thinking about my twenty-third birthday. I had been pregnant and terrified and Edward and I had fought that day. I was getting old and fat and no one would want me. I could feel my life ending with this child, see my youth and freedom and happiness slipping away as I got older.

I told him he only stayed because I was beautiful.

He told me that in that moment, I wasn't.

He said I was nasty and spiteful and scared to death and that he loved me anyway.

I cried in his arms a long time that night.

When he handed me a tiny, vanilla cupcake with pink frosting and a single candle pressed inside, I wasn't upset because he loved me.

I imagined him finding this poem, tracing the words neatly, carefully, and with all the love Yeats had felt when he wrote it. Beside me as I slept.

_How many loved your moments of glad grace / And loved your beauty with love false or true / But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you / And loved the sorrows of your changing face_

Edward had stopped there, not writing the final stanza.

I felt an ache in my chest, building in small tremors through my body.

I bit my lip and recited in a whisper, " '_And bending down beside the glowing bars / Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled'._"

If had had known then what he knew now, he would have kept the last verse. He would have written it with more sadness and more relevance than the others.

_I_ felt it more.

I didn't want the fleeing love and sorrow and shadows to be the only truth Edward ever knew. I wanted to be someone who was worthy of these words, as I had never been before this. He had always seen something in me that wasn't true, that wasn't real, and he had loved it.

And now I wanted it.

After several minutes, I found myself wondering how long it would take for Edward to realize I was missing.

Would he be nervous when there was no answer at the ranch house? Would he come check to see if I was okay? Or would he stay in the city, angry and assuming that I had stood him up?

My mouth was suddenly dry at the thought.

It was a strange feeling in that moment, as I considered him angry and hurt and heading back to his house in a rage. Against every instinct I possessed, I didn't feel afraid on my own behalf. I didn't think about the fact that I might spend the night in this truck, stranded and alone. That was nothing.

All I could think about was what _Edward_ would think, his mind racing over and over with the mantra that was so a part of him, that I had ruthlessly created. The mantra that I had spoke to him a million times: that I didn't want him. The thought of him feeling that way again, the idea that it would be my doing, and I felt nauseous.

_I want to be with you._

Placing the book back in the glove compartment with a sudden, unwavering resolve, I wiped the tears from my face and pulled my jacket tight around me. Grabbing the handle of the door, I pushed it open. Rain immediately struck my face, around my body, all over the seat of the truck. I jumped out, my light cloth tennis shoes soaked through within seconds. I looked at the time quickly before I closed the door. Edward would have noticed I wasn't coming by now, I had been sitting in the truck for nearly an hour.

The knowledge only served as steely motivation.

I slammed the door closed and locked it before turning first one way, then the other in the rain. I was fairly certain I was almost directly between Hartsel and Colorado Springs, and that either one would be a considerable walk.

I decided that there was more likely to be a gas station somewhere closer to the city, so I headed East. I walked with the footsteps of the defeated yet determined, struggling with my zipper as my sweater began to cling to my body under the downpour. It must have been broken, because it refused to catch. With a huff, I gave up, wrapping the jacket tighter around me with my arms across my chest.

The wind blew the hood off of my head as I walked, and I didn't bother to pull it back up. My hair was getting ravaged anyway: heavy, damp strands clinging to my face and neck stubbornly as the rest whipped around violently in the summer storm.

I was surprised at the sudden calm that had descended over me.

Walking into the unknown, with no guarantee of safety or refuge, not knowing what would happen to me, and I felt completely at ease. More so than I had felt in the warm, dry of the cab. It was the knowledge that I was doing something, that I was fighting and refusing to be helpless, that I was raging desperately against my nature in order to be better.

Each step I took was physical proof.

Suddenly, I heard my name being shouted by a familiar voice, though the sound of the rain striking concrete. "Bella!"

I whipped around, my heart seizing suddenly with hope. I saw an unfamiliar car pull up beside me. It was small and red and as it approached I could see the passenger side window rolled down. It slowed to a stop beside me.

"Bella! That _is_ you."

I peered inside, brushing strands of hair and water out of my eyes and off my skin and was met with the face of a smiling, puzzled Mike Newton.

"Mike," I said with relief and inexplicable disappointment.

"Hey, Bella," he greeted cheerily now. I saw his eyes trail up and down my soaked clothes, his eyebrows raising in question. "What happened to _you_?"

I bit my lip and shrugged. "My truck broke down."

"Yeah, I thought I saw it back there a ways," he agreed with a nod. "Where are you going?"

"I…forgot my cellphone," I told him, feeling my face heat a little, suddenly struck with embarrassment. "I was just trying to find a gas station or…somewhere with a phone."

"Well, let me give you a ride," he offered politely, motioning to the passenger seat. "Want me to come take a look at the truck? Or I can take you back to the store and get you a change of clothes or something?"

"Actually, can I just use your phone?" I asked him, shivering slightly as another gust of wind blew through my already soaking jacket and sweater. I pulled my arms tighter across my body.

"I bet I can fix your truck," Mike said confidently, not seeming to hear my question. "I mean, did you get a flat? Do you need a jump?"

"It's not a flat tire," I told him, remembering the shuddering and jerking of the engine. "I'm not sure _what_ happened."

That seemed to discourage him a little. But his face brightened again almost immediately. "I know a couple mechanic guys around here," he told me with a wide smile. "I bet they can help."

"I really just need a phone," I repeated, my voice pleading and nervous.

"Oh, yeah," Mike said, patting his pockets half-heartedly before admitting, "I actually don't have my phone with me, either."

"Oh," I said flatly, feeling a little deflated.

"Well," Mike sighed, apologetically. "Where were you going before your truck broke down? I can give you a ride there."

I didn't miss the strange hopefulness in his eyes.

"That's not necessary," I said with a wet shake of my head. "Are you going back to the store? Is there a phone there I could use?"

"Yeah, hop in," he said, his voice all eagerness as he leaned across the console and opened the passenger door from the inside. I glanced back in the direction of my truck, unable to see it anymore through the distance and the rain. Then I slid into the seat beside Mike, closing the door against the rain and immediately feeling self-conscious in the warmth beside him, my clothes and shoes squeaking noisily.

I looked over at him guiltily, worried about ruining his seats.

He didn't seem to notice.

"Is Edward at work?" he asked me suddenly.

I was surprised momentarily, before remembering that it wasn't a strange question. If Edward wasn't at work, most people would assume that he would be with me on a Sunday afternoon, driving into the city. I was sure the Mike and everyone in Hartsel who cared to talk of such things had no idea that Edward and I were no longer living together.

"Yeah," I said with a nod. "I was going to meet him in the city for a late lunch."

"I can take you," Mike offered again, this time without question.

"You don't have to," I said, giving an uneasy wave of my hand. "I'm just going give him a call from the store, if that's okay?"

"It's really not a problem," Mike insisted, leaning towards me slightly.

I looked at the strange eagerness on his face, the willing smile, and the friendly posture. I wondered for a brief moment if perhaps Mike considered himself one of my _friends_. The idea was so abrupt and irresistible that I found myself agreeing before I could even really think it through.

"Uh… I guess it'd be okay," I said slowly. "Thanks so much, Mike."

Mike's entire face lit up and he winked. "Anything for my favorite customer."

I smiled back at him weakly before turning away.

I recognized the expression on Mike's face, because I had seen it on Edward's countless times.

It seemed I was doomed to always be rescued – whether I wanted to be or not – because there would always be men out there who saw themselves as my rescuer.

"So where were you meeting him?" Mike asked me after a stretch of silence.

"I don't know, some restaurant," I shrugged. Then I added quietly with a glance at his car's clock, "He won't be there anymore."

Mike's eyes flicked over to mine briefly before turning back to the road. "So where do you want me to take you?"

"Um…his mother's house?" I said hesitantly. I told him the address and Mike nodded, saying the he knew the area.

We were quiet again.

Then, "So, you guys were going out to lunch?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, looking over at Mike curiously.

He seemed utterly incapable of sitting in comfortable silence. I saw a strange amount of nervousness and tension in his posture as he drove, constantly needing to fill the air with some kind of meaningless small talk. I supposed Jake had been like that, too, only it hadn't really bothered me because I had been so completely enamored of him. Anything he wanted to say, I wanted to hear. Any question he thought to ask, I wanted to answer.

Edward and I had never been like that.

For years our silences were dominated by an uncomfortable tension and anger and grief. But things hadn't always been like that.

We used to sit in silence for hours, not speaking, not touching, just in the same room or driving in a car or lying awake in bed, side by side. His quiet presence had always been an embrace, just as surely as I had felt in Jacob's arms. There were no significant gestures or loaded glances or lingering touches that indicated anything of the sort. I felt it only through my certainty that every inch of his body was agonizingly aware of every inch of mine.

"Where were you going to eat?" Mike asked, his voice pleasant and jarring.

"I don't know, some Chinese place," I told him honestly, with a small smile. "He was going to choose, since I don't know the city that well."

"There's this really good place on North Academy called _Jade Dragon_," Mike told me helpfully. "I go there all the time…"

He continued to talk about their dumplings and how they weren't quite as good as _Pei Wei_'s dumplings, but most of their other food was better. Then he began to talk about how many dates he had taken there and how it was so hard to meet a nice girl around here and he laughed uncomfortably when he joked that if I was single I would be perfect for him.

I wasn't really listening.

When he stopped rambling at last and looked at me expectantly, I turned to him with a small smile and simply said, "Oh."

Our conversation continued all the way into the city, my words somewhat stilted with nervousness, my mind completely preoccupied. Worried about the truck and how much it would cost to fix, worried about Esme's reaction to me showing up at her house uninvited, and worried most of all about Edward.

Mike talked gaily in my ear for nearly a half hour before we finally arrived at Esme's, pulling into the driveway behind a sleek, red convertible, the top secured against the rain. I recognized Esme's black car beside it.

Before I could thank Mike for his help, he had jumped out of the car and was opening my door for me politely. I gave him a small smile for his trouble and remained silent, not protesting when he followed me up to the front door.

Trying to appear calm, I rang the doorbell once.

I hoped that Mike couldn't see that I was holding my breath.

When the door swung open, I took an automatic step back as I was greeted not by the warm, receptive face of Edward's mother but instead by the closed, flawless face of his sister.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed when she saw me standing on the front steps.

"Bella," she said, saying my name in a flat greeting. "What are you doing here?" Then her sharp, blue eyes flicked to the man standing beside me, goofy grin and blond hair flattened against his forehead from the rain. "And who the hell is _that_?"

"This is Mike Newton," I introduced him, my voice wavering a little as her eyes slid back to me accusingly.

"I thought you were supposed to be with my brother," she snapped, folding her arms, not inviting us in.

"Oh," I breathed uncertainly and quickly began to explain. "The truck broke down a couple miles from that city limits and I didn't have a cellphone on me. Mike passed me when I was looking for a gas station and he was kind enough to offer me a ride here."

Rosalie looked at me for a long moment, taking in my ragged, sopping wet clothes and shivering form. Her lips tightened into a thin line and I saw her jaw clench exactly like Edward's did when he was annoyed.

They were the only two people I had ever known who were irritated, not by anything I had said or done, but by my presence alone.

"Isn't that nice," she said at last, her voice laced with sarcasm. She looked briefly at Mike again before stepping back from the door. "Mom!" she called out over her shoulder. "Bella's here!"

Then she moved away, turning her back to us and walking inside without another word. She left the door open, which I knew was the closest to an invitation we would receive. I glanced at Mike, who looked baffled and slightly offended, before stepping into the house in front of him. I heard him follow behind me into the foyer, closing the door gently behind us.

"Bella?" I heard Esme's voice call out, quick steps rounding the corner into the hall to greet us. When she saw me, her worried expression melted away into relief. "There you are! Oh, I'm so glad you're alright. What happened? Why aren't you with Edward?" She asked me quickly before she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me tightly into a hug. I wrapped my arms around her automatically, hesitating slightly when I felt the water from my clothes pressing against hers.

She seemed to notice this at the same time.

She pulled away, concerned rather than repulsed. "What happened, darling? You're soaked to the bone."

"Her car broke down, mom," Rosalie spoke up before I could say anything. I looked over at her quickly to see her leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Everything about her posture was severe and intimidating, but she didn't seem angry like she had the last time I had seen her. "Newton gave her a ride."

"Oh!" Esme cried, turning to Mike as her eyes lit up with curiosity and gratitude.

"Michael Newton," Mike introduced himself, holding out his hand. I looked over to his face, which seemed much warmer and more comfortable at the reception we were receiving from Esme. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."

A strange look passed over Esme's features when she accepted Mike's hand politely. "Oh yes," she said slowly, her voice hesitant. The friendliness was still genuine, but it seemed strained somehow. "You went to school with Edward, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mike nodded with a grin, obviously pleased to be remembered.

"I recognize the name," Esme confirmed, releasing his hand and turning back to me with a smile. "Well, thank you for helping Bella. We really appreciate it."

Sensing an opening, I asked her a little desperately, "Have you heard from Edward? I was supposed to meet him for lunch and I had no way to get a hold of him…" I trailed off, feeling foolish and worried.

Esme nodded, her smile light and comforting. "He came by here maybe forty-five minutes ago and said he was going to drive up to the ranch house to check on you," she told me.

I groaned a little. Looking down I remarked sheepishly, "I bet he's so angry with me."

"Of course not, dear," Esme blinked, surprised and reassuring. "He's just worried. I'll give him a call right now and let him know you're safe." She turned to make her way into the other room, which I could see was a small, quaint kitchen. She paused and turned back to Mike and I. "Can I get either of you something to drink?"

"Uh…no thanks," I stuttered out, feeling awkward and nervous still.

Mike, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. "What have you got?" he inquired, his voice friendly and jovial.

"I'm not sure. Why don't you come take a look while I give Edward a ring?" Esme smiled at his light demeanor, reaching out her arm to motion him after her. As she led him into the kitchen she said to her daughter in passing, "Rosalie, will you get Bella some dry clothes from my room?"

Rosalie pursed her lips but didn't hesitate when she said, "Yeah."

Without a glance at me, she swept off towards the stairs, leaving me alone in the foyer. I stood, solitary, clasping my hands together and shifting from foot to foot, looking around curiously.

The house was reminiscent of the Esme's older home that I now occupied, but on a much smaller scale. Less mansion-like, it had an old feel; homey and quiet and welcoming. Everything was wood and patterns and colors and it reminded me of a little farm house situated cheerily in the middle of a metropolis.

I could hear movement in the kitchen as Esme directed Mike to the refrigerator and picked up the phone.

I listened carefully, my ears straining to catch the conversation from the hall.

"Hello, Edward?" I heard when he picked up the phone. I inhaled deeply and stopped breathing. "I know she's not…She's here, actually..." There was a small pause as she allowed him to speak. "She's fine, just a little wet from the rain…I think she tried to walk…" There was another pause, longer this time. "She's just in the other room. I can get her for you?" A short pause. "Alright, I'll see you in a few minutes."

I felt my heart lurch uncomfortably in my chest at her parting words.

_A few minutes._

"Here," I heard a voice snap from behind me. I turned to my right, startled, to see Rosalie standing beside me, thrusting dry clothes at me, her face twisted a little in resentment.

I took the clothes from her politely, scrub pants and an old t-shirt. "Thank you, Rosalie," I said quietly, with a small nod.

"Don't mention it," she replied with an airy wave, and I got the impression that she distinctly meant what she said. "They're not mine."

Before I could respond, I heard Esme making her way back into the foyer with Mike at her back, holding a drink.

Esme glanced between Rosalie and I for a brief moment before her eyes locked on me.

"Oh honey, why don't you go change into those?" she said, moving towards me and placing her hand on the small of my back. She led me out of the foyer, through the living room, to a small bathroom near the stairs where she handed me a towel. "Edward was already on his way back when I called him. He's only a couple minutes away."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Okay."

I stepped past her into the bathroom and smiled at her gratefully one more time before I closed the door with a soft click.

Once I was alone, I took a deep, calming breath. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, embarrassed at the flat, damp mess on my head, all tangles and snarled wet strands. My skin was paler than usual, my lips twinged a little blue from the chill of the wet fabric, pasty against my skin. The first time I had put on makeup since I had left New York and it was running all over my face, tracking down my eyes in streaks from tears and rain.

With a sigh, I released the button on my jeans and peeled the fabric off like it was a second skin. My shirt came next and, not wanting to toss them on the floor, I placed them in the sink. I used the towel that Esme had given me to dry off my skin quickly, the warm fabric rubbing friction and wonderful against my pimpled arms and legs.

Suddenly, I heard the front door slam open and quick, heavy steps rushing into the house. I dropped the towel away from my face, holding it limply at my side when I froze.

I heard his voice, deep and hard. "Where is she?"

There was a murmured response from Esme and then he was moving again.

My breath came in a sputtering gasp as the bathroom door flung open almost immediately. I remained completely motionless for several seconds that felt like minutes. He stood in the doorway, hair wet and uncontrollable, face pale and severe and restrained, his entire body humming with some kind of undefinable energy.

"_Jesus Christ_, Bella." His voice was a hiss of relief as his eyes met mine. Then he was demanding and walking towards me. "Are you alright? I saw your truck on the side of the road and I thought…" He shook his head as he cut himself off.

He stopped moving towards me when he was a little less than foot away. I could feel a sudden tension crackling between us that we both chose to ignore.

I wondered if he wanted to touch me.

"I'm okay," I assured him, my voice shaking a little. "I didn't have a phone or I would have called you." Then I glanced down at the ground. "I'm sorry you were worried."

When I looked back up at him warily, Edward's expression had softened and calmed significantly. "You don't need to apologize, I'm just glad you're okay," he told me kindly.

I nodded and smiled at him a little.

He returned a smile that faded quickly in the silence, his eyes falling down to my body involuntarily. I felt my cheeks heat and flame and I remembered what I was wearing: nothing but my underwear, which had been soaked through and clung to the rest of my naked body snugly.

I lifted the towel I held slowly, in a half-hearted attempt to cover what he had obviously already seen.

His face was as red as my own when he motioned awkwardly away. "I'll just be out…" He didn't even finish the sentence before excusing himself and closing the door gently behind him.

Fighting my mortification, I quickly pulled on the scrub pants and large shirt that drowned my small frame several times over. They were way too large to belong to Edward, and so I assumed they had been Carlisle's. Unsure of how to feel about that, I gathered my wet clothes in my arms and opened the bathroom door.

Edward was waiting for me out in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets.

When he saw me emerge, he straightened up immediately.

"You're sure you're okay?" he asked again, his eyes locking with mine as if he was looking to catch me in a lie.

"I'm fine." I nodded and granted him another small smile.

He smiled in response and then motioned for me to follow him. He directed me to the dryer for my clothes, taking them from me and putting them in the machine himself. His hands brushed against mine as he lifted the wet jeans from my arms.

We walked back to the living room quietly, neither of us saying a word.

It was an embrace.

We found Esme sitting on the couch with Rosalie on her left and Mike in the armchair on her right, sipping away at his drink and smiling at something one of them had just said as they conversed quietly.

When he saw Edward and I enter the room, Mike stood up, setting his glass down on the table, careful to slide a coaster under it.

"Hey, Edward," he said, holding out his hand with a wide smile.

His greeting was met with silence and I glanced at Edward curiously, only to see that he had tensed a little at my side.

"Mike." He nodded in acknowledgment, but didn't reach his hand out to accept Mike's offer. After several seconds, Mike dropped his hand back down to his side, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Esme, who had been watching this exchange carefully, spoke up. Her voice was quiet and subdued, but encouraging. "Michael was the one who found Bella," she explained to Edward, almost imploringly. "He was kind enough to bring her here."

"Yeah," Mike nodded in confirmation, glancing back to Esme kindly as he spoke. "Lucky I was driving into the city anyway. I don't usually drive that far down 24 on weekends."

He turned back to Edward with a nervous but expectant smile.

He looked like a dog that was waiting for a pat on the head.

"Lucky," Edward deadpanned.

There was another tense moment of silence that I didn't understand. Without thinking and without resisting, I brushed my fingers lightly along the outside of Edward's hand soothingly. I felt his hand tremor a little at the contact and then his eyes flicked down to meet mine.

I couldn't read his expression, but I pulled my fingers back anyway.

When Edward turned back to Mike, his solemn gaze still hard and unwavering, Mike cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I really should be going," he said weakly.

At his declaration, Esme stood up and moved next to him.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Michael?" she invited, although I couldn't tell if she was offering just to be polite. As kind as I knew Esme to be, I almost got the impression this was the case. And with the tension that was still crackling in the air, I couldn't blame her.

Rosalie remained silent and still throughout this exchange, her eyes almost constantly trained on me.

"I'd love to," Mike said, courteous and nervous. "But I really do have some…stuff I need to do," he added vaguely.

"Well, if you're sure," Esme said with regret and relief.

"I am." Mike nodded firmly, moving towards the foyer slowly. "Uh…sorry." As he moved, he turned to me and gave me a weak smile. "Well, Bella, see you around."

"Bye, Mike," I nodded. "And thanks so much for everything."

Mike hesitated, glancing for a moment at Edward, before he stepped towards me.

"Here's my card," he said, holding out a small white business card. I accepted it wordlessly. Then he smiled that same eager-to-please smile and added, "Call me if you need any help finding a mechanic to fix your truck. I know it's impossible to find a decent one around here…"

At that, Rosalie stood up and folded her arms. "Not impossible," she snapped.

To say I was surprised would be a gross understatement.

I looked at Edward curiously, but his eyes were fixed on Rosalie.

I remembered him telling me a long time ago that Rosalie was something of an amateur mechanic, that she loved cars: driving them, fixing them, everything about them.

Was she offering to fix mine?

"Oh. Um…okay," Mike stuttered, startled and confused. "So…I guess I'll just…" He motioned to the front door. "Bye, Bella. Bye everyone."

The door closed loudly behind him, echoing in the strange quiet of the house.

I looked at Rosalie, who was still glaring at the closed door after Mike, then to Edward who was looking at Rosalie, and then finally to Esme. Her eyes were on me, all affection and sympathy and she gave me a small smile.

"Well," she said to the room, barely sparing a look for her two children. "I guess I'll go get dinner started."

She turned to make her way back to the kitchen and her movement seemed to snap Edward back to the present.

He glanced down at me, then he called after his mother, "We'll help, mom."

I nodded my agreement.

Rosalie's gaze moved slowly from the door to where Edward and I stood, still side by side and close. Her eyes narrowed once more and then she was grabbing Mike's abandoned glass and following Esme into the kitchen quickly.

Edward looked down at me, expectation and patience.

"Should I have refused Mike's help?" I asked him, surprised at how abruptly it came out of my mouth.

Edward also looked surprised momentarily.

Then his brow furrowed slightly and his expression hardened as he considered the question. His hand lifted hesitantly at first, then confidently. Then his thumb and forefinger were twisting a strand of my damp hair pensively.

"No," he said at last, his voice slow and hesitant. "You did the right thing."

I nodded and he dropped the strand of hair. It fell back to my shoulder, warmer than the rest.

"You don't like him, though," I stated, even though it was a question.

Edward's jaw clenched and relaxed. "No, I don't."

I bit my lip and glanced to the ground briefly before looking back up at him and meeting his eyes firmly and with a confidence I did not feel. "Would you tell me why?"

There was a long pause as Edward looked down at me.

Then he said, "Let's go help my mom."

I wasn't surprised.

"Okay."


	31. The Difference

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

Thank you so much to everyone who voted for (or who just "read and made it to the end of") **ineedyoursway** and my one-shot, "Watching the Sky Turn". It somehow, oddly, got third place in the **Black Balloon Contest**. That blows my mind in all kinds of ways.

This story has just been nominated into a very intense-sounding hardcore contest called the **Twilight All Human Fanfiction Awards** under the category of "Fanfiction That Has You Hooked For Drama". It's very ruthless and longterm and badass and apparently spans the entire year with three voting rounds and all sorts of crazy business. If you want to know more about it or, God forbid, vote for this story, I'd head over to **twilightallhumanawards(DOT)webs(DOT)com **where I'm sure the rules are better explained.

* * *

**The Difference**

"Bella? Oh my God, Bella, is that you?"

My entire body froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice as the familiar voice sounded behind me. I would recognize that voice – that gentle tone, the deep inflection, the way his tongue wrapped around my name – until the day I died.

I didn't turn, my breath held steady in my lungs, the only motion the heavy thundering beats of my heart, clamoring and raging inside my chest at a deafening speed.

"Bella?"

The voice was softer, closer.

Then he was in front of me. Deep, caramel skin and eyes intense as burning coals, fixed only on me. The same way they had a thousand times before. The arch of his brow was furrowed in worry at my silence, I could see his hand reaching out to touch me.

I had to keep him from touching me.

"Jacob?" I managed, surprised at how easily his name slipped from my mouth.

I took a step back, out of the line. A couple confused customers looked at me before quickly moving into my position, eager to get their coffee and be on their way. They probably had jobs to get to, lives that they desperately wanted to return to.

I didn't.

My entire life was here in front of me, and all I desperately wanted was to hear the next words that would come out of his mouth.

"Bella," Jacob said, his entire face lighting up at my staggered expression. "It's so good to see you. How are you?"

I said nothing.

He looked down.

Then back up at me.

His face was different.

"You...you kept it?" His voice was quiet and his hand was on my arm before I could stop him. I found myself being pulled away from the crowd of people, off to the side, Jacob's eyes never leaving my face.

How I had longed for months to have his eyes so firmly, intently fixed on me and in this moment, I didn't care.

I heard his question and it shot me to the surface.

I could breathe.

"I did."

I couldn't count the emotions that darted across his face in the span of three seconds. But then we was smiling at me gently, his voice was quiet and soothing and patronizing. "I'm so glad. Really, I am."

I said nothing.

"How is everything going?" he asked, his ease flickering and waning. "Do you...do you have enough money? Do you need anything...?"

"I don't need anything from you," I said without hesitation.

The sadness on his face made me want to wrap my arms around him more than I had ever wanted anything.

So I did.

I felt him breathing into my shoulder, his hands coming to rest on the small of my back. Between us, our child.

Every moment felt blurred, fake, like I was dreaming underwater.

I told him I was with Edward.

He was happy for us both.

I promised to call him when the child was born.

He said we should be friends.

I asked him about Nessie.

He kissed my cheek, twice.

I walked out of the cafe without shattering into a million pieces.

* * *

"Oh, there they are!"

I heard Esme's lovely, musical voice from across the room.

I turned to my left, my eyes quickly scanning the small, quiet restaurant until they landed on the three people we had been looking for.

I saw Esme making her way towards me quickly, Rosalie and Emmett trailing after her. I could feel a smile spreading across my face, even as my heart kicked up a few notches nervously.

I fought the urge to smooth out the dress I was wearing and to fiddle nervously with my hair; most of it was pinned up, but there were a few loose ringlets cascading down my back that nearly begged to be tugged on. The only thing that kept me still was the knowledge that Alice was behind me, chatting softly to Jasper. If she saw me make one move to fiddle with her meticulously arranged updo, I would be risking life and limb.

Instead of chancing Alice's wrath, my grip on Edward's arm tightened reflexively.

I could feel him glance down at me, a calm presence at my side.

He smiled at me quietly and leaned over a little, bringing his mouth closer to my ear so that he could whisper, "Nervous?"

I nodded in response, but my eyes remained locked with Esme, my smile firmly planted on stiff lips. When she reached us, her warm, motherly arms slid around me first before pulled back to take in my appearance.

I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath until she spoke.

"That is such a beautiful dress, Bella," she complimented warmly, her eyes glittering. "You look stunning."

I felt my face flush in embarrassed pleasure and my right hand slid along the fabric of the dress self-consciously.

"Alice's idea," I admitted, throwing my friend a rueful smile over my shoulder before turning back to Esme. "I wasn't really sure what to wear, since I had received something of a last minute invitation."

Edward coughed a little at my side and I looked up at him.

He was still smiling down at me, everything about his face open and friendly, so much more radiant than I had ever seen it. He also looked down to study my dress, his eyes dragging heat and chill over my body until they met mine again.

"You'd never be able to tell," he commented, his tone friendly and open without being suggestive.

I flushed deeper red all the same.

Earlier in the day, Edward had come up to Hartsel while I had been outside, working on painting the house. It was a Sunday and I hadn't been expecting him, but wasn't surprised when I heard his car pull up. He had been coming to the house with more and more frequency, and with less and less warning.

"How's this side coming?" he had asked, striding up and looking up and down the unfinished wall coolly.

"Wonderful," I replied, stepping back from my work with a satisfied smile. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye before adding, "Way better than your side, I bet."

A few weekends ago, over dinner, we had begun bickering about who had painted the larger majority of the house that day. It had been a playful, teasing argument that had ended in laughter and the decision to each pick a separate portion of the house, turning the project into something of a competition. We had split up the walls of the house, but we rarely remained separate throughout the day. When I would get bored, I would go over and critique Edward's slow painting and end up helping him for a few hours. In turn, he would mock my distraction from my own side and insist on helping me even the score. Still, there were some days when we didn't speak or acknowledge each other at all. There was no anger or malice in the silence, but occasionally the dividing lines suited us.

Edward snorted indelicately, arching one eyebrow as he looked over the wall with mocking indifference. "Impossible," he scoffed. He closed the distance between us in a few steps and stood beside me, leaning in a little closer when he whispered conspiratorially, "Especially since you missed a spot."

"What?" I said, rearing back slightly as my eyes ran over lower half of the wall quickly, not seeing what he was talking about. "Where?" I demanded, snapping my gaze back to him sharply with a scowl.

Edward smirked and was moving suddenly.

I understood what he was about to do a moment too late.

I just barely managed to jerk my head to the side as Edward brought his paintbrush up to my face. Instead of plopping the white paint on my nose as I was sure he intended to, my abrupt, defensive movement landed a large, wet splash across my cheekbone. Instinctively, my hand went up to swipe the paint away, but I only succeeded in spreading it over my skin and onto my hand.

"Jerk," I mumbled.

Edward chuckled at me as I wiped my hand on my jeans with frustration.

Without responding, he folding his arms and turned his attention back to my newly painted wall with a smirk, waiting for my flustered spluttering to cease.

I sneered up at him, wondering if I was fast enough for retaliation.

Edward had always been faster than I was, simply because his legs were longer, but Edward had never been one for physical exertion and I doubted that he had ever done much more manual labor than I had.

Now, though, his skin was browned slightly from the weekends spent almost entirely outdoors with me, the lines in his arms growing strong and firm. He would always have a slender, lithe build, but it was no longer weak as it had been in New York and it was no longer animated with strength through anger as it had been when we first moved into the house.

It was life that had taken hold of him.

With a sigh and resigned huff, I decided against an attack. I straightened up, ignoring whatever mess of paint remained on my cheek and my jaw and almost certainly my neck.

"So, did you actually come up here to help?" I demanded with mock-anger. "Or are you just here to annoy me?"

Edward's smirk turned into the genuine smile, but he still wasn't looking at me.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you if you'd be interested in going out to dinner tonight," he said casually, his gaze trained forward.

My eyebrows shot up involuntarily.

Appearing to sense my surprise, he finally turned to look at me before he corrected, "Well, dinner with me and my family. It's Rosalie's birthday and we're all going to some French restaurant in the city."

My mouth opened slightly and soundlessly. I felt a strange, fleeting pang of disappointment which was almost instantaneously replaced with awe.

He wasn't asking me because he felt he had to; he wasn't asking me out on a celebratory dinner as friends; he wasn't asking me out on a date.

It was so much more significant than that.

He was asking me to go to dinner with his _family_.

As his wife.

The thought terrified me.

It terrified me almost as much as the occasion that the dinner was planned around.

I hesitated. "I don't..."

Edward smiled at my reluctance; a strange, simple response. "You have some big plans for tonight?"

He wasn't insulted, or reading into it as a rejection or a comment on his company. Instead, he turned it to teasing.

"Funny," I replied drily. Then I shook my head. "It's just...Rosalie..."

Edward understood immediately.

"She'll be fine," he insisted without pause. "She knows I'm asking you."

"I don't want her to have to deal with me on her birthday," I shrugged, holding my arms out in honest helplessness.

"Deal with you?" Edward repeated, sounding a little indignant. "Bella, I hardly think - "

I cut him off. "You don't need to spare my feelings, Edward."

That silenced him for a moment and I could see he was unable to argue.

As much as I knew Rosalie disliked me, it was surprisingly difficult to see confirmation of it reflected in Edward's sour expression. I watched him pick at dried paint on his fingers for several minutes before he lifted his head once more, his eyes locking with mine.

I was surprised at how disappointed he looked.

"Are you saying you won't come?" he asked me quietly.

"No," I replied quickly. Then, "Not...exactly...?"

Edward studied me for a moment more. Then, "Would it make any difference to you if I said that_ I _wanted you to come?"

My response was immediate.

"Okay."

Edward looked confused. "Okay?"

"I'll go."

Confusion became surprise.

"Really? Just like that?"

I nodded quickly, before I could second-guess myself. Instead, I allowed my mind to focus on nothing but the look of relief that had suddenly and quickly replaced all traces of doubt in his face.

The moment I agreed to go, I felt a faint, nervous flutter deep inside my gut.

Then, I had a thought.

"Edward," I said, my tone and expression becoming extremely serious.

"Bella."

"Is this place going to be super swanky?"

Edward's eyes danced and his mouth curled into a smirk.

"I'd say only moderate swank."

I sighed, looking down at my paint spattered clothes and sweaty body.

"That means I have to shower, doesn't it?" I asked, looking up at him grudgingly.

The smirk softened and Edward stepped a little closer. Smiling down at me, he lifted his right hand to drag a finger slowly down my cheek to my jaw. I felt my entire face catch fire, skin singing and burning as if the brush of his hand was a licking flame.

In spite of the heat of the contact, my entire body chilled and shivered suddenly, my heart catching in my throat and my breath holding and quiet.

Edward's finger traced down along my jaw softly before dropping away.

I was biting my lip so hard I was surprised I didn't break the skin.

Then he was smirking again and holding his finger in front of me.

It was covered in white paint.

"Yeah," Edward whispered, leaning close and playful. "Definitely have to shower."

After that, I had barely hesitated in calling Alice, who Edward told me would also be going to dinner with us. She came over without question and told me what kind of restaurant it was, going through my closet until she found an appropriate dress. It was deep blue, strapless and simple, and hit just below my knees. By the time I emerged from the shower, clean and wet, I was a mess of nerves.

Dinner with Edward, dinner with Edward's family. It wasn't the first time.

It was the first time I cared.

Alice seemed to understand that, somehow. She immediately took charge, picking out my shoes and a light sweater, dressing me up like a doll as she curled and toyed with my hair and brushed makeup over my skin sparingly.

I felt like only five blurred, frantic minutes had passed before she was handing me off to Edward at the bottom of the stairs.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was feeling no more confident than I had been back at the house. Looking at Esme and Rosalie and Emmett, looking at the beautiful white tablecloths and dim candles flickering, looking at the whispering, sparklingly patrons around me, the only thing that kept me from sprinting out of there was my hand on Edward's arm.

He wanted me to come.

"Hey, Bells," Emmett greeted me, moving forward and clapping Edward on the shoulder. "How's that pesky truck of yours?"

"Running," I replied with a grin. "Rosalie really did a great job."

I hazarded a glance at Rosalie, whose face was surprisingly clear of all malice. Instead she looked uncharacteristically neutral, her expression unreadable as her eyes moved over to mine when she heard me say her name.

"Hi, Rosalie," I said lamely, my voice quiet and my heart knocking uncomfortably in my chest.

"Bella." She nodded in acknowledgement. Then, without prompting or derision she added, "Glad you could come."

I blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard by the sentiment. I recovered quickly. "Thank you for having me. Happy birthday."

"Don't remind me." Rosalie grimaced.

Without another word, she turned and led us all towards the table. Esme moved past us, her arm linked with Alice's, Jasper right behind them. Emmett hung back a little with Edward and I, still smiling his infectious, wonderful smile.

"So the truck is running?"

"Perfectly," I told him. Then, with a sideways glance at Edward, I added, "Although I haven't had the opportunity to drive it anywhere, yet."

Emmett understood immediately, laughing loudly and winking at me. "Edward certainly is a worrier."

"I can hear you, you know," Edward interjected. His voice was light and easy and by my side.

I looked up at him with a smile at the same moment he looked back down at me. Our eyes met and I began to feel the tension and worry slip away from my body, everything relaxing with a moment and a slow exhale.

Somehow, inexplicably, I knew it was because of him.

"Well, really, Edward," I teased, smirking up at him. "What's the point of getting the truck fixed if you still insist on taking me grocery shopping on the weekend anyway?"

Edward's smile fell a little and he cleared his throat. "I'm letting it...rest," he explained hesitantly.

Emmett chuckled. "He's such a sensitive young man."

When we reached the table, Edward pulled out a chair for me beside Alice. I thanked him quietly, willing myself not to blush or to trip as I sat down. He took his seat on my right hand, Esme across from him. Emmett sat across from me, with Jasper and Rosalie on opposite sides of the far end. The waitress came with bread and water, taking our drink orders politely and diligently.

"So, roof's all better?" Emmett asked me, grabbing two peices of bread out of the basket eagerly.

I nodded. "No leaks so far."

He nodded, knowingly, as if he had been expecting my response. "It must have been all my expert measuring."

"Doubtless," I humored him with a grin.

"I heard you guys were painting the place, too?"

"Well, we just finished the old room at the end of the house," I told him, shooting a glance in Edward's direction. "The outside still has a ways to go, but...it's getting there."

"I have to come up and see it sometime," Esme remarked quietly, listening to our conversation.

My eyes moved to hers, feeling suddenly guilty.

This was her house, and we were changing it.

She was smiling at me, though, nothing but sweetness and pleasant approval in her features. She continued, "I felt so guilty when Carlisle and I moved to the city. It was like leaving an old friend. It's dreadful how badly I let it fall apart."

I shook my head vigorously. "You had a lot on your plate."

Esme's smile was agony.

"I loved that house," she said softly. Then added, "And Carlisle loved that land."

"I do, too," I replied without hesitation. "Really."

"I wish you could have known him better, Bella."

"So do I."

"Well, maybe you will yet. So much of him is still there," she told me, her voice aching and her words nostalgic and lovely. Then she turned to the man seated beside me, motioning towards him. "And there."

I looked over to Edward, smiling and sad. He reached one hand across the table to wrap his fingers tightly around his mother's.

I averted my gaze as a silent, significant moment passed between them.

The quiet lasted only seconds before Edward turned to Emmett and started up the casual conversation once more.

It didn't take long before everyone was talking pleasantly and easily, the weight of grief, once again, was locked away tightly in each and every heart at the table.

I found myself being drawn into almost every conversation, finding it easy and effortless to speak with these people that I had come to know and respect. I remembered the dinner after Carlisle's funeral, the same group of people were strangers then. _I_ had been a stranger, then. Fear and guilt and unknown had kept us at a distance that night.

There was no trace of distance anymore.

I felt surrounded, encompassed by the affection and love of a family that I was beginning to see as my own. I looked into their faces and I saw sisters and brothers; I saw a mother. We ate and drank and laughed and spoke and it was as if there was nothing that kept us from one another.

And the biggest difference - by far - was found in the subdued, smiling man at my side.

When I had first arrived in Hartsel, I had heard the way Esme spoke about Edward. I had seen the way she looked at him. In her eyes, he was generous and kind and intelligent and handsome. He was a man without flaw.

Every moment I had spent in Colorado, it was all I had seen in people. The way Alice and Jasper and even Emmett spoke of him, the way Rosalie defended him so fiercely, the way she had melted into his arms when she first saw him; it was something I had never been able to see in him.

He was only that man tonight.

"How was your dinner?" Edward leaned over and inquired when the waitress began clearing the plates from the table, his hot breath touching the outside of my ear.

I responded lightly, "Well, it was no peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I muddled through it, somehow."

He chuckled and nodded, pulling away from me and straightening up in his chair.

I added with a contented sigh, "I haven't been out to dinner in ages."

I saw Edward pause out of the corner of my eye, felt his gaze shift back over to me as he placed his fork down on the table. I looked around at everyone else, noting that they were all engaged in conversations of their own, before I turned back to face him curiously. I was surprised to see his eyes locked on my face, every line of features marked with a rigid intensity.

After a long pause he said firmly, "I'm sorry, Bella."

I was startled by the emphatic tone of his voice, the sincerity and the meaning laced behind his apology.

"Oh, that's okay," I scoffed with an uncomfortable wave of my hand. "We haven't really had much time, and I've been totally getting into making food myself." Then I paused and smiled a little before nudging his shoulder playfully with my own. "And, you know, occasionally getting _you_ to make it."

Edward's answering smile was small.

"I'm glad," he said truthfully. "But I'm still sorry."

I bit my lip and nodded, unable to drag my eyes from his, knowing what he was really apologizing for.

I knew all the silence and the fighting, the cold room and soup dripping down kitchen walls. I knew shattered lamps and silent rides to the grocery store. I knew aching and waiting and starving the the walls of that house. And everything beyond it. Everything that came before, too.

Edward knew and he was sorry for it.

I wanted so badly to be.

Before I could say anything more, I heard Rosalie speak up loudly from the other end of the table.

"I would like to take this opportunity to cut my own birthday dinner off," she announced to everyone as she placed her napkin beside her plate. "I've been getting up so early lately for work and I'm just completely beat."

Alice protested that there had been no cake and singing, Emmett complained that he hadn't had enough to eat, but I could tell that there was really no arguing with Rosalie. This was her birthday and we would follow her rules, although I had the impression that most days weren't much different. I turned to the clock on the wall on the other side of the restaurant, surprised to see that it was getting close to ten. I hadn't realized how long we had spent here, time seeming to hurtle past without my awareness.

"We should probably get going, too," Edward said in agreement with his sister. "I still have to drive Bella back to Hartsel."

The Cullen siblings stood at the same time, their eyes meeting from across the table. I cleared my throat and stood up too, followed by a grudging Emmett.

When Esme stood, her eyes fell on her son immediately.

"Why doesn't Bella just stay at the house, Edward?" she suggested, nodding her head in my direction, her gaze not wavering once from her son's face. "She must be tired."

Edward's eyebrows shot up and he turned around to look at me sharply, as if it had somehow been my idea.

I felt my face heating as I looked back at him, then to Esme, and then - against my will - to Rosalie.

She was watching the exchange from the other end of the table; tall, imposing beauty. There was a frown marring her perfect lips, her eyes sharpened and focused not on me for once, but on her brother.

He, however, _was_ looking at me.

Feeling as though he was waiting for a response, I stuttered, "I...whatever you want to do. You're the one driving. I'm...pretty much at your mercy."

I refused to meet his eyes in the pause.

Then, "Alright."

When I heard his consent, the agreement and kindness in his voice, I could feel my heart begin to beat at an irrationally quick pace in my chest.

I told myself I didn't know why.

I was quiet and polite in the car, thanking Edward for inviting me and telling him what a lovely time I had. He was polite and gracious right back, but I could see he was preoccupied. I knew the expression he wore on his face when he was thinking hard about something that was troubling him, and he wore it now like a flashing sign.

Instead of asking him, I was silent.

Just as we pulled onto the highway, Edward received a call on his cell from one of his co-workers. The conversation was brief and when he hung up the phone, he asked me if I minded stopping at the hospital to pick up some case files on the way home.

I told him simply, "I'd love to see where you work."

I almost whispered it.

Five minutes later we were walking through the hospital, quiet and dark with only a small amount of staff still working at such a late hour. The women working the desks downstairs greeted him with a wave, looking at me curiously but saying nothing and making no move to introduce themselves. Edward didn't pause for introductions anyway. He simply ushered me forward, apologizing for the inconvenience as we walked.

I wasn't sure if he was nervous or agitated.

I took in every inch of the hospital with wide, interested eyes.

"Sorry about this," Edward apologized for the eighth time as we left the elevator and headed towards the lab. "It probably could have waited until tomorrow, but I figured since we were so close to the hospital anyway..."

"It's really fine, Edward," I insisted. "Stop worrying."

Edward turned back to smile at me, stiff and forced, before leading me through the empty lab to a tiny little room on the far side. He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door swiftly, holding the door for me as he flicked on the lights. Inside was a desk with only a computer on it, kept completely tidy and immaculate. There was a standing lamp and a small trashcan and not much else. The room was small enough that even the few sparse items that were there, made the space seem cramped.

I watched as Edward made his way over to the small, two-drawer filing cabinet on the opposite wall with obvious familiarity.

"Is this...you have an office?" I asked in surprise, spinning around quickly, taking in every square inch of the small room.

Edward looked up at me from the cabinet, pausing in his search in order to smirk at me, amusement in his eyes. "If you want to call it that."

He went back to thumbing through the manila folders and I moved forward a little, running my hand over the smooth surface of the desk. When I lifted my fingers, they were completely clean. Not a tiny bit of dust or debris to be found.

"You don't know how lucky you are," I whispered, not sure if he could hear me, or if I even wanted him to.

"Lucky?" Edward repeated in surprise, grabbing on of the folders triumphantly and standing up as the drawer slammed shut. He turned to face me, his brows still furrowed. "Bella, the desk takes up eighty percent of the space in here."

"So?"

I saw concerned bemusement begin to creep across Edward's face. He held his hands out and shrugged in question, unsure.

"You have a job. You have a career," I told him, my voice surprisingly firm. I began pacing in front of the desk, unsure why I suddenly felt so aggitated, so desperate. "You got an education and you worked hard and you know how to function in society and you contribute and help people and you just...you come here and you learn new things every day. You do what you love and you give back to people and it's just..."

I paused, trying to figure out how to force the admission from my lips.

It escaped in a whisper. "I want that so badly."

Edward took a step towards me, looking worried.

"Bella..."

"But I don't even know_ what_ I want!" I cut him off abruptly, the words rushing out of me suddenly. I wasn't sure where they were suddenly coming from, but I felt them linked up with that house and Esme and Alice and that dinner with that family. Mostly the words came from a place where I was standing here, looking at him and his filing cabinet. And as vague and frantic and irrational as it seemed, I could stop the words from coming out. "I don't know what I'm good at or what I enjoy or who would even hire me. I'm just this useless person who can't do anything but _want_ to do something."

"Bella..."

I could feel the tears running down my face, unstoppable, my cheeks becoming hot and red and soaking wet.

I didn't know why I was crying until the words were drawn from my lips, by nothing more than the worried expression on his face.

"I don't know how to be a good person," I told him helplessly.

"Bella..."

He took another step towards me and reached out his arm, his hand coming to rest on my right shoulder. A jolt of heat coursed through me, beginning where his skin touched mine and branching out in twisting waves through my entire body.

"What?" I asked finally, taking a deep breath, unable to move towards him or away from him.

"Stop," he ordered me, his voice gentle.

I took a deep shuddering breath, trying to control the tears.

There was no need. I had stopped crying the moment he put his hand on me.

His other hand lifted and I could feel his thumb brushing at my jaw soothingly. Then his head dipped down slightly so that we were eye to eye. It didn't matter because my eyes were locked on his mouth when it spoke. "Everything I have, you can have."

I didn't know if he really believed it.

"Even a shitty little office?" I sniffed.

The worry eased off Edward's face subtley and he smiled. "Even a shitty little office."

"How do you know that?" I asked him, my voice wavering.

Edward was silent for a long time.

Then he sighed and both his hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back. It wasn't a withdrawal. He ran one hand through his hair and I could see him thinking, considering the question. I felt the absence of his touch with every inch of my body.

Finally, Edward's eyes met mine.

"Because I know _you,_" he said with a firm nod. "And if you want a different life, you'll have it." Then he paused for a moment before smiling and adding, "You'll have anything you want."

I didn't know if he really believed it.

But I did.

I took a step forward, grabbed at the front of his jacket, and pulled him into me.

There was one deep breath - mine or his - and our mouths crashed together.

* * *

My eyes fell on Edward as soon as I shut the door. I could see the top of his head over the couch, slumped a little to the side.

The TV was sound and static, flashes of light in the background of a dark, silent apartment.

As quietly as I could, I walked around beside him, taking in his sleeping form. His breath was even and slow, a picture of contentment. He was still in his clothes from work, his tie still snug around his neck. I gently lifted his left arm and examined his watch, groaning softly when I saw how late it was. I wasn't sure how long I had been walking since I had left that coffee shop, reeling from my conversation with Jacob.

I wondered how long Edward had stayed awake, waiting for me.

With quiet, smooth movements, I loosened his tie, sliding it from around his neck and placing it on the couch beside him. I unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up slightly, letting my fingers drag along his thin, pale arms.

Dark eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks, and then he was awake and looking at me.

He smiled down at me, kneeling between his legs, my hands sliding from his arms to rest idly on his thighs. His hand lifted and brushed some of the hair from my face, tucking it around my ear in an incredibly tender gesture.

"Where were you?" he asked me, his voice rough and raspy from sleep. His eyes were still heavy and drooping and haze.

He wasn't upset or suspicious or anything except worried.

I looked up at him and saw how much he loved me.

Only me.

"Ask me again," I said.

"Ask you what?"

"Ask me again...to marry you."


	32. The Answer

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note:** You probably know, at this point, that I'm pretty fucking sorry about this story. However, I am, for all intents and purposes, "back". I will be finishing this. I'm sure I've lost a lot of interest because of my unplanned hiatus, but such is the fanfiction world, I suppose. Real life sometimes does not allow for storytelling. Thanks to anyone who will be returning to this and finishing it with me.

I would just like to say, for the record, that there are still around 15ish chapters remaining in this story. This is not the end. You'll probably understand this warning when you finish reading this particular chapter.

Thank you to everyone who PMed me and left reviews in my absence. I'm still making my way through all of them now. The support is overwhelming.

As an aside, thank you to those who brought my attention to the fic "The Cullen Crown Bears Down". I'm not hurt or giving up telling my own story because of it. It's the internet. It happens.

* * *

**The Answer**

I concentrated on my heartbeat and my breathing.

In. Out.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Slow and heavy and beating in my temples.

I stood in that small office, not shifting, not fidgeting and I was back in the New York brownstone. His eyes hard on me, watching. I felt the fear and the weight and the judgement pressing down on me and it was as if the past months had never happened. That careful ease, that slow building comfort and trust, gone in an instant.

The instant he had pushed me away.

I didn't know how long I had been standing there. It had been at least ten minutes since he had sunk down into the chair behind his desk. I didn't know if it was shock or fury or confusion that had moved him, because my eyes were fixed firmly on the floor.

In. Out.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My heart wasn't racing anymore. No excitement, no adrenaline. I had forced it to slow, tempering it with the steady pull of air and silence. But it was still thick in my ears, shaking my body, vibrating in my bones.

"I'm sorry."

The words left my lips automatically.

My lips that were still burning.

Lips crashing against his, hard against his soft surprise. My hand gripping and grasping and pulling at his shirt, collar and chest, clutching fabric in my hands and forcing him still against me and closer. I could feel the tension in his body, I understood it, and pressed forward. I knew I could get him to respond to me. I had always been able to. Kissing, touching, fucking. Growling on a train, yelling on the stairs, soup staining walls. It didn't matter how he felt about me. It didn't matter how I felt about him. I could always get him to respond.

And he did.

Violently.

In the split second my lips parted, my tongue barely darting out, intent on forcing his lips to yield and part and take, I felt his hands on my body. Wind at my back. Stumbling backwards from the force of his shove, untempered by awareness and made forceful by desperation.

I almost fell, the only thing preventing it was the size of his office. Instead of the ground, I found my body pressed flat against the door. Lungs empty of air. My shoulder blades striking sharp against the wood probably should have hurt. I didn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything but his eyes.

Wide. Green.

Horrified.

I stepped towards him automatically, he stepped back in response.

I understood, then.

I hadn't moved from that spot. Dropped my eyes to the floor and kept completely still. I was waiting for him to speak. Waiting for him to tell me.

He said nothing.

Every couple minutes, I punctured the silence with an apology.

He never responded.

I heard him go to the chair behind the desk and sit.

In. Out.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I took an irregular breath, breaking the rhythm. "I'm sor-"

"Please." His voice rang out, sharp and quick and angry as he interrupted. Harsh and bitter. "Don't apologize again."

I felt my entire body tense up at the sound of his voice. Flames licked at my cheeks.

This was what I had been waiting for.

I had been prepared, braced for his anger. I had thought it the most likely response when I realized that I had miscalculated everything. Ruined. Everything ruined. And now we would go back to the anger and the hate and the quiet.

An intense feeling washed through me at the thought, one more consuming than regret, more wrenching than frustration.

I knew how Edward felt at Carlisle's funeral.

Saying good-bye.

"Are you…crying?" I heard him again, through the pounding, his voice still angry. Now laced with shock. Incredulity I couldn't understand. He _knew_ I was weak.

"I'm…" My voice wavered.

I heard a frustrated sigh.

"_Don't say you're sorry_," he growled out, his voice quieter now.

I swallowed with some effort and felt my teeth clamp down on my lip, the pain allowing me to stop the flow of tears travelling quietly down my cheeks.

"Look, Bella," Edward sighed, his voice gentler now, his tone deliberately lacking emotion. Not lacking. Controlling. Emotion that was stifled. "I didn't mean…" He paused. Then, "I just can't hear you apologize again."

There was something in his voice as he pronounced the words carefully.

Slowly, so slowly, I forced my eyes up, dragging along the lines of the desk before me, up until I could see his hands folded on the top, up his arms, to shoulders, neck, face. Eyes.

I saw the anger I had heard. But that wasn't all. There was still horror. Disgust. And, oddly, concern.

I trembled slightly as I gathered the courage to speak through my embarrassment, my fear.

I _had_ to fix this.

I _couldn't_ go back to the way it was.

"I…I don't want you to be angry at me." My voice shook a little, my words saturated with tears and awful sinking hopeless.

Edward closed his eyes.

"I'm not angry at you," he breathed. "I'm angry at myself."

His eyes still closed, I reached up quickly and brushed the drying, uncomfortable tears from my cheeks, smearing salt and wet on my hands, down to my dress. I felt my brows furrowing in confusion, not knowing how to respond, not wanting to believe him. Not wanting to hope.

I watched, my lips parting just slightly to release a small breath of surprise when Edward's head fell into his hands, fingers weaving into his hair in frustration.

"I can't believe we're here again." I barely heard his words, mumbled into his wrists.

I thought I knew what he meant.

I couldn't believe it, either. Back in the office and the fear and the tension.

But then I didn't know what he meant when he continued, "How could I have been so ignorant? How could I do this to you, after everything?"

I didn't think he was really talking to me.

I answered him just the same.

"You didn't _do_ anything." My voice didn't tremble at all.

Edward's head lifted from his hands, his eyes snapping to mine. The bitterness was there, dominating and tinting jade.

"Didn't I?" he demanded.

All self-loathing that I couldn't grasp, couldn't hold, couldn't reason.

There was nothing to say in response to it.

As we stared at each other, him sitting behind his desk, me standing before him, exposed and wondering in a blue dress, I watched the resentment slowly fade into sadness.

I recognized it.

His voice was quiet and controlled as he listed his sins. "I forced you here. I made you stay. I abused you and blackmailed you into living in this place…" His voice dropped down to nothing, his lips moving for a few seconds after he stopped talking.

He spoke like he was confessing.

Which made me his priest.

Or his God.

I felt my head shaking. "You told me that I could leave. I _chose_ to stay."

"Yeah, I said you could leave," he said, barking out a laugh; miserable sound. "I said the words. But I said them knowing that you wouldn't. That you _couldn't_."

"How could you possibly _know_ that?" I whispered. It was meant to sound reassuring, rhetorical, like I had weighed my options for days and days and my decision was made consciously and completely.

It just came out as a question.

Not rhetorical.

"The same way you did," he replied. His eyes dropped to his hands, which had returned to his desk. Folded. "Did you ever feel like you had a choice?"

I opened my mouth to say that _of course_ I had a choice. That I was confident enough to make a decision, that I was strong enough to walk away, that I was brave enough to be alone.

It was a lie.

The options were never weighed.

There were no options for me.

Edward watched my hesitation with a grim, reluctant triumph.

"I took my satisfaction and my solace from your misery," he told me. His voice was quiet, but it was strong again. Forcing me to listen to his words. To feel every jolt of surprise and pain. "For months I watched you suffer and I revelled in it, in the knowledge that you couldn't escape it. You were bound to me the way I used to feel bound to you."

In. Out.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

"And now I find out that all this time that you…" His voice cracked and he stopped.

His eyes were on mine and I was unable to look away.

I didn't want to.

I could feel his voice, every syllable in every inch of me. I could hear the guilt that saturated every word. I was beginning to understand, really understand. I felt him pushing me away and the horror in his eyes and I could feel his heart beating just as hard as mine.

"But things are better between us now," I told him, trying not to sound like I was pleading. "You said it yourself. Things are better."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he nodded slightly.

"I don't wish to see you suffer any longer," he conceded. "I want to see you happy again." He hesitated before adding, "Or…for the first time."

"You've seen me happy," I said quickly, reflexively.

Edward smiled small and looked at me earnestly.

"I've seen you trapped. I've seen you make do. I've seen you resigned."

"I'm different now," I insisted. "This place made me different." Then, softer, "_You _made me different."

His eyes released mine again and he ran his hand through his hair, looking away. Anywhere but to my face. My face that I was sure was begging him.

_Hear me._

_I am not the same._

"I believe you."

His words should have been a relief.

They were what I wanted.

He could see, the same as I could, that he sat behind his desk and I stood before him and he was angry and I was afraid and this had happened before.

_We are not the same._

It didn't matter.

His words were flat and surrender and _finished_.

I took a deep breath. Nodding through the hurt of realization, the agony that comes with a shift in perception, a change that can no longer be ignored.

"But you're different, too. You don't want me anymore." It wasn't a question.

"Did you think that I would?" Edward asked.

He wanted an answer.

He wanted to know.

Why now?

Why him?

Why us?

_Did_ I think that he still wanted me?

I answered him. "You told me 'always'."

There are no absolutes.

He answered me. "You told me 'never'."

There are no absolutes. But there are limits.

"I made a mistake," I said.

His eyes narrowed on me, I could see a slight ripple of shock, of apprehension in his features.

"Kissing you," I clarified through my teeth. I could feel myself crack under each word, wishing he wouldn't make me say it. But I had to. I had to fix this. I wasn't helpless anymore. "It was a mistake, a slip. It won't happen again, I promise."

There was a silence that stretched decades, the last word ringing in the air, defying the absolutes.

I stood facing him, forcing my body still and straight.

I knew he had wanted something else. He had wanted me to tell him that it had meant nothing, that I had simply grown fond of him again, that I had been bored or nostalgic or lonely. He was waiting for me to make it into nothing, the way that I always had before. The way that he had grown used to. The place we were both comfortable.

I didn't want us comfortable.

I let it be what it was.

A slip.

I didn't know if he would accept that.

After a long moment, Edward glanced down at the watch on his wrist. I watched him swallow and slowly rise to his feet.

"We should go," he said quietly.

_We_.

I nodded silently and turned around, reaching the door in two small steps and swinging it open.

I heard him behind me. "Bella."

I turned around. He had moved around his desk, files in hand, looking after me with some indescribable expression on his face, like he wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure how to phrase it.

"What?" I asked, waiting with a strained politeness.

He sighed. "Nothing."

I walked out the door first, but waited for him to close it and lock up. I followed him through the halls of the hospital once more, the maze in reverse.

The nurses wished Edward a good night, and he responded pleasently. I could see tension in the way that he walked, tension that had everything to do with my presence three steps behind him, but I doubted anyone else could see a difference between the man who had walked in and the man who was leaving.

I tried to mimic my own carefree, curious demeanor from earlier.

Edward made it look near effortless.

I felt stiff and obvious.

No one was paying attention anyway.

I found myself looking down at Edward's feet, matching my steps to his.

When we got back to the car, Edward didn't open my door for me.

I wasn't offended.

The drive back to the house was completely silent.

With every second, it became thicker, more apparent. His challenge, my penance. A test for both of us. I felt a flicker of annoyance grow within my chest, building and building until every one of my muscles was rigid with anger, my jaw tensing and popping with the desire to speak. I could feel the helpless silence of my own guilt, the knowledge that, at least tonight, I had to be silent. I had to show him that I was sorry that I had kissed him, that I didn't begrudge him the rejection. My quiet acceptance made the kiss significant, but suggested a remorse I didn't feel.

Tomorrow, I would force him to talk to me. Tomorrow I would fix everything, rebuild the trust that I had unwittingly lost. Tomorrow we would have another discussion, or another fight, or another anything.

We could keep moving forward.

Tomorrow.

He had accepted my apology.

He had said "we".

I hadn't ruined everything.

I had time.

I tried to stare out the window for most of the ride. My eyes kept wandering to him. He seemed relaxed, at ease, lost in thought.

His hands were not relaxed.

They strangled the wheel until we pulled into the driveway.

I could see one of the lights still on in the house. Esme must have waited up for us, probably wanting to settle me into my room. Mother me in a way that my own never had. Be lovely and perfect and everything I had ever longed for and was only now learning to accept.

I didn't want to face her right now.

But I would.

I reached for the handle to open the door, shifting in my seat to get out, when I felt a slight pressure on my left arm.

Edward's hand.

"Bella." He said my name softly.

I paused and turned back in my seat, not allowing myself to really feel his touch. Ignoring the heat of it on my skin, feigning relief when it dropped away.

I waited.

He struggled.

Finally, he spoke in a whisper. "Every difference in you, every change you've fought to make…it would all be for nothing if you gave in to dependence; if you lost yourself in the past."

My brows furrowed slightly, thinking that I understood but not wanting to be sure.

"I'm not looking to repeat what we had," I told him. I was proud of how neutral I kept my voice.

Edward looked away, taking a steadying breath as he faced forward towards the house.

"There's no other option," he said with certainty. "I _am_ your past."

I didn't take my eyes off of him. He wouldn't look at me.

He waited.

I struggled.

It was my whisper this time. "So this is the part where I'm supposed to let go?"

Edward turned and looked at me then, for a long time.

Then he leaned towards me. I felt myself rearing back instinctively, pressing myself flat against the seat as my eyes widened in surprise. There was a fleeting moment, when I saw his arms lift, I thought he was going to touch me. Pull me. Hold me.

The glovebox snapped open and I heard something slide out, but I was looking at his face. Expressionless.

So was I.

I watched him lean back into his seat, holding a small pile of papers.

Then, so quietly, he held them out to me.

They were in my hands.

I read the header.

_Petition for Dissolution of Marriage._

I felt the quiet weight as they fell to my lap.

His voice.

"This is the part where _I'm_ supposed to let go."


	33. The Marriage

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Marriage**

"I'm not asking you to sign it right now… "

"Take all the time you need… "

"Think it through…"

"I know you'll realize this is the right decision for both of us…"

"Please say something…"

"Bella?"

The first and last noise I was aware of was the sound of the car door clicking shut.

I didn't remember Edward had spoken to me in the car, fragmented nervous sentences, until much later.

The sound of the car door closing behind me, shutting him out, had brought me back to reality. I had stood outside, my fingers on the handle, cold metal pressed against the soft of my palm. In my other hand, paper. I had blinked as the light inside the car faded slowly, casting blackness over his face. He had been looking straight ahead. His profile a dark outline, shadowed and sharp. My eyes had traveled to the steady movement of his eyelashes, shape of his mouth, the up and down of his chest. He had remained still, making no move to follow me.

After what felt like hours that I knew to be seconds, I had released the handle and turned to walk to the house silently. By the time I reached the front door I could feel the numb leaving me, being replaced with the warm and cold of awareness.

I breathed steady. Deliberate and slow.

I looked at the door in front of me, gathering my courage to open it.

I shivered.

I could hear my father's voice coming from behind that door, and still from a great distance. The distance of time, stretched out behind me and tangling hopelessly with the present.

"You almost ready in there, Bells?"

I was standing in a blue dress and a sweater, clutching a few pieces of white paper that would end a marriage.

I was standing in a white dress and a veil, clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers that would begin a marriage.

"Yeah, Dad." There was a small tremor in my voice. It was the last moment of weakness I would allow myself.

Standing in a room alone, on my wedding day.

No one to fuss over me. Not wanting to fuss over myself.

No fuss.

My mother hadn't offered to help me get ready. No one had. Jessica and Lauren would have if I had wanted bridesmaids. I didn't. I wanted nothing.

I never thought wanting nothing would cause so many problems.

I patted my own cheeks lightly, making sure they weren't wet with tears or hot flush, before I pulled open the door quickly and stepped out into the hallway. My father was waiting for me, looking uncomfortable and unsure in his tuxedo. I felt myself smile a little as he shifted and looked at me and shifted some more.

"You look…ah, you look beautiful, Bells." I had never heard my father say anything more stilted and awkward.

I looked down when I muttered my thanks.

I wasn't anything like beautiful.

I had been staring at myself in the mirror for hours. Every hair was in place, the dress was lovely, my face made up and picture perfect. Calm and silence had achieved a stone, statue flawless. I knew that I looked the part of the perfect bride. I knew it without vanity.

Just as I knew what I was missing.

The fuss, the imperfection, the _glow_. The glow that every bride was supposed to have, every mother-to-be, and I didn't have it. It had been taken from me, doused out. I could look at myself in a white dress, diamonds in my hair and around my neck and feel nothing. I could feel the shift in my belly – the small kicks – and I pressed my hand, not to feel and to revel, but to still the movement.

No one would notice the difference, the stillness, except perhaps the man who was standing in front of me, shifting nervously and avoiding my eyes.

I wasn't sure I could fool my father into thinking I was happy.

I was grateful that I didn't have to try.

He seemed more than content to lead me down an aisle and say nothing about it.

"Shall we?" He offered me his arm.

I smiled weakly and took it, wrapping my left arm around his right. I felt him tighten for a moment, pressing the length of my bare skin against his tuxedoed side. Almost an embrace, a motion of encouragement.

I nodded at him solemnly.

I didn't want encouragement for what I was about to do.

Not back then.

My father wasn't waiting for me on the other side of _this_ door.

I rolled the paper in my hand up, trying to make it as small as possible, wishing I had a coat or a purse to bury it in. I didn't want to touch it anymore, didn't want to feel my skin memorize its texture, mold and crush as my grip tightened nervously.

I put my left hand on the doorknob, wondering if it was locked.

It wasn't.

We were expected, after all.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the room – the kitchen – and halted almost immediately. I could feel my breath catch and hold tight in my chest. I had been expecting to see Esme, to be forced to keep myself composed in the face of her love and affection and understanding. I had been unsure about whether or not I could do it. I had been calculating how best to keep myself from bursting into tears, helpless and flinging myself at her feet. Begging for a forgiveness that only her son could give me.

It wasn't Esme who waited.

Rosalie – long golden lines and angles – sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper quietly.

"What took you so long?" she grumbled, not looking up immediately.

My entire body went rigid, locked down, contained and not even close to crying. I wasn't sure if it was just surprise or if it was genuine fear. With a staggering breath, I closed the front door behind me. When she heard the click, Rosalie's sharp eyes snapped up to my face. I saw her gaze waver for a moment, flicker to the closed door behind me, before locking back to my face. I couldn't read her expression.

She looked like she was waiting for a reply.

_What took you so long?_

I took a deep breath, stuttering and stopping a few times. "I…we…Edward got a call on the way back. He had to stop at the hospital to pick something up," I told her carefully, my heart picking up a little as I heard myself speak the words.

So casual, so easy.

"And where's Edward now?" she demanded to know.

I swallowed as she put down the newspaper.

Her expression was carefully neutral, as if she was holding something back.

Her eyes kept glancing behind me to the closed door.

"He's in the car," I answered her, my voice quiet but unwavering.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed just a little as she took in my appearance. I didn't know how I looked to her, didn't know how deliberate my calm or my poise was. I didn't know if she could see through me, into the agony of what had transpired.

I guessed that she could.

She always saw things I didn't want her to.

_Like the truth._

"Why is he in the car?" she asked bluntly, not skirting around at all. As she asked, she stood up slowly. I could tell it wasn't _meant_ to be a threatening gesture; I fought the urge to take a step backwards.

I opened my mouth to answer her; shut it just as quickly when I realized I didn't have an answer.

I could hear all the unspoken parts to the question.

_What did you do to him, Bella?_

_How did you hurt him this time?_

_What kind of agony have you paralyzed him with now?_

Her face showed no indication that she was thinking anything of the kind.

The only one asking the questions was me.

Rosalie continued to look me over in an unashamed perusal – maybe searching for answers I could give her unconsciously – until I saw her eyes light on the roll of papers I held tightly in my fist. The difference in her was so subtle I was sure that if I hadn't been completely focused on her reaction, I wouldn't have noticed.

Her chin lifted just a little; she dragged in a sharp, silent breath.

But her expression didn't change at all.

She opened her mouth to speak. "Bella…" was all she managed to say before I felt cold at my back, the door opening and closing behind me as Edward walked in.

I took an automatic step to the side and away, backwards and facing both of them, my head swinging first one way and then the other. I bit my lip sharply and crushed the papers a little more.

"There you are," Rosalie remarked, her attention immediately shifting.

Edward had halted where I had been standing seconds earlier, before I had moved unconsciously to make room for him. He was staring straight at Rosalie, firmly, surprised and pale. I saw something in his eyes that hinted at annoyance, but didn't nearly reach it. Mostly, he just looked blank.

"What are you doing here, Rose?" he asked, his voice very quiet.

I saw one of Rosalie's eyebrows twitch to an arch, her lips pursing slightly.

"What were _you_ doing out _there_?" she shot back, folding her arms over her chest, clearly throwing a challenge.

Edward didn't respond.

He simply stared back at her as if he hadn't heard her question.

Then, I saw an incomprehensible shift in Rosalie's demeanor. Her eyes flickered, then dropped to the floor. I saw them shoot in my direction briefly, to the paper in my hand, avoiding my face, before she lifted them back up to her brother.

"Well, we were dropping Mom off and we just figured we'd hang around until you and Bella got back." Her explanation came effortlessly, after only those few tense seconds, as if she'd simply forgotten her own inquiry, as if it suddenly wasn't important to her to know.

I wondered if she knew what I held in my hand, what it meant.

If so, the surrender of her pettiness had been immediate.

I wondered if there was any part of her that wasn't graceful.

"I thought you were tired," Edward remarked, his gaze a little more interested now; he had seen what I had.

"Didn't figure you'd be gone so long," Rosalie replied with a shrug.

"I had to stop at the hospital."

"So I heard."

Edward's eyes moved to me for the first time since he'd walked in the door. He was careful to keep his face entirely neutral before he turned back to Rosalie.

"Where are Mom and Emmett?" he asked her, moving into the room, a little more at ease.

Or appearing to be at ease.

Rosalie nodded behind her where the kitchen became a wide hallway. "Making up the couch."

"And what a _fine_ couch it is." As if on cue, Emmett strode in from the direction Rosalie had just indicated, his seemingly ever-present smile lighting his face. "You're in for a real treat tonight, Eddie."

Behind him, Esme followed quietly, also smiling. Silent and soft, but still charmed and charming.

They entered the kitchen with a shock of warmth and bright and energy, which normally would have broken the tension that built inside me. They were a respite from the intensity of anything that troubled me. There had never been a time when their confidence and kindess hadn't been able to put me at ease.

For the first time, it was different.

Their entrance made me feel suddenly crowded, claustrophobic. Like there were too many bodies in the small kitchen. I felt every single one of my muscles stiffen. My shoulders tensed, my jaw locked, and my fingernails dug into my palms, wrapped so tightly around the divorce papers that I held in plain view of anyone who cared to look.

Oblivious to my suddenly heightened discomfort, Edward smiled at his brother-in-law kindly. "Thanks for your help, Emmett."

"No problem," Emmett nodded. He strode across the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Rosalie, pressing her back into his chest. "Ready to go, babe?"

I couldn't help but blink, half-expecting Rosalie to go rigid or shirk Emmett's affections.

I never would have imagined her leaning into his touch, melting into his body without seeming to be conscious of it.

But she did.

"Yeah, let's go," she answered him, her voice was music. All her sharpness softening, her expression changing just enough to make her more beautiful than I'd ever seen her. Then she turned to Esme and leaned forward a little, pecking the older woman on the cheek in a startlingly domestic gesture. "Night, Mom."

So different than the aloof, golden goddess I had grown accustomed to.

In seconds she had shifted.

It took nothing for her to change.

"Goodnight, dear." Esme smiled at her affectionately. Then she turned to me. "Bella, would you like to see where you're sleeping?"

She motioned for me to follow her as Rosalie and Emmett moved past me towards the door. I took a small step in her direction when I felt someone reach out and grab me abruptly. I whipped my head to the left, my surprised eyes locking with blue.

Facing opposite directions, shoulder to shoulder, her hand grasped tightly around my left wrist, Rosalie leaned in to me.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. It wasn't a whisper, but I doubt anyone but myself and Emmett – still behind her – had heard her inquiry.

My mouth fell open slightly.

I didn't respond.

Rosalie hesitated at my silence, then released my wrist and continued away from me, opening the door and gliding out. Emmett followed her without pause, without knowing anything was wrong, without seeing the paper in my hand, with a friendly waved "Bye, Bella."

When the door clicked shut behind them, I turned back to Esme. Both she and Edward were watching me expectantly, having moved slightly closer to the hall, indicating I was to follow.

Licking my lips and taking a deep breath, I walked after them.

Most of the lights in the house were off, but the space only required a few to be able to see. Everything was very dim as I followed behind mother and son, allowing myself to be led. Pictures and odd shapes of hanging artwork were darker on the walls of the hallway. I wouldn't be able to see them in detail, understand what they were, until it was lighter.

The house was spacious and open, but still very small. We reached the end of the hall, and a door, in less than a minute.

To the left was another door.

To the right I saw the entrance to a living room, where there were sheets, blankets, and pillows spread across a small, straight couch.

"Edward…" I said, looking at the couch dubiously.

"_I'm_ sleeping on the couch." Edward cut me off with a small smile, knowing what I had been about to say. "End of discussion."

I grimaced at him, looking back to the closed door in front of me.

_I don't want to sleep in your room._

I couldn't say that.

Instead, "I don't want to put you out of your room."

It was Esme who answered.

"Oh, nonsense, dear." She brushed forward with a wave of her hand and opened the door to Edward's room invitingly. Then she stepped back again and motioned to the living room. "He nods off on the couch half the time anyway and I hear him crawling to bed at three in the morning. I never remembered him being such a restless sleeper."

I didn't either.

A lot had changed.

"Anyway," Edward said quickly, obviously not interested in discussing his sleeping habits. His eyes that had hardened firmly on his mother, softened again when he looked at me with an expression that made my jaw clench. "This is the bathroom, there are extra toothbrushes behind the mirror…" He pushed open the door to the left and flicked on the light.

"I brought you something of mine to sleep in and laid it out on the bed," Esme added with a smile.

"Thank you so much," I whispered.

"It's no trouble, darling." Esme waved her hand again.

I looked at her, realizing that she actually had no idea of how much these small, mothering gestures meant to me. How welcome she made me feel, how wanted. She had been used to doing it her whole life, for Edward and Rosalie and eventually for Emmett, Alice, and Jasper. My own mother's was a love that had to be earned, and that had proved impossible to do so. Without minimalizing what it meant to her, Esme's affection for me was effortless.

I didn't know how to tell her what her care for me meant.

I hadn't had any practice.

"Edward." She turned to her son." I trust you can get her settled in?"

I blanched slightly, stirred by the thought of being left alone with him once more.

Edward nodded.

Esme's smile widened. "Well, I'm off to bed, then. I'm right at the top of the stairs if you need me, Bella," she told me, pointing through the living room where there were stairs on the other side of the wall.

"Thank you," I said again.

It felt inadequate.

Then, for some reason, I remembered Rosalie's departure.

Without thinking about it, I leaned forward and placed my hand on Esme's arm before reaching to brush a small kiss across her cheek. "Goodnight," I murmured, pulling back, face heated.

Esme was no longer smiling.

For some reason, though, she looked happier.

She reached a hand to my own cheek, touching it softly in response.

"Goodnight," she answered.

I watched her walk up the stairs slowly.

It was only when she was gone, when I was staring at empty stairs and wall and floor, that I realized I was afraid to turn my head.

Afraid to look at the man breathing quietly at my side.

"Bella…"

"I think I'm going to go get changed," I said quickly, cutting him off and darting into the bedroom, closing the door behind me and throwing myself into blackness.

I leaned back against the door, my heart suddenly pounding and dreading and warring.

I couldn't stand there with him. I couldn't look into his sad, guilty eyes for one more second. I couldn't hear anything that he would say. After all, here wasn't much left to say. Wasn't that his point when he gave me those papers?

_Petition for Dissolution of Marriage._

I let my right hand relax slowly, my fingers uncurling until I felt the paper slide from my skin and drop to the floor. My hand felt stiff from holding it so tight, so rigid. I breathed and flexed my fingers and calmed my heart until my eyes adjusted to the dark.

I glanced around, looking for the light switch, my hands fumbling clumsy in the night.

And then I was surrounded by him.

The light came on and my senses flooded back and I was blinded and blinking and then I was seeing him, all around me in this room.

It felt like walking down the aisle.

Seeing him everywhere around me.

I was clutching at my father's arm, praying I wouldn't fall or break, wanting time to move in slow motion and feeling the kicks in my belly that meant it never would. Taking one step after another and seeing flowers around me and everywhere. My eyes scanned the room quickly, looking for the face I needed, the only face that I longed to see. I wanted to see it in agony and regret and pain and come to take me away from this place. It wasn't there, that face. All I saw were the faces of families I didn't know, gazing back at me, his and mine.

_Ours._

The small body in my stomach kicked out at the thought.

My eyes found his at the end of the aisle.

He was waiting for me, looking at me, wanting me and wishing for me. When our eyes locked I could see his face break out into a breathtaking smile, exuberant and triumphant. All the months we had spent together knowing and loving and learning each other were accumulating in this moment. He had never looked so handsome to me, his face filled with love and adoration and devotion and _need_.

His eyes sparkled brilliant green.

They were the wrong eyes.

My father handed me to him, whispering something in my ear, and I felt Edward's arms close around one of mine, guiding me forward to the minister.

I held onto him through the entire ceremony.

I couldn't let go.

The vows were simple and classic.

Edward and the minister turned to me.

When I said '_I do'_ my eyes were closed.

My eyes were open now.

Taking in, devouring, seeing every inch of his room like I was looking at him for the first time.

Or the last.

No beautiful works of art or meticulously carved furniture or a baby grand stuffed in the back corner. The bookshelves didn't hold volume after volume of my favorite poetry. No giant, beautiful bed with silken sheets and rose petals. No wild, tempestuous chaos that spoke of passion and longing and tortured nights.

His bed was small with a dark blue comforter, pristinely made. The walls were deep gold brown; there was a desk in the corner; there was a microscope on the bookshelves full of medical journals; there were black and white photographs hanging; simple carpet over simple wood; white ceiling.

Immaculately clean.

It was everything I remembered of him, everything I never knew about him, happy and in harmony and exactly as it was meant to be.

This was where he was supposed to live.

The way he had never lived in the Hartsel house.

The way he had never lived with me.

In New York it had been lavish and luxury and beautiful neatness and stylish décor. Every inch of the bedroom we shared had been mine. For me. Without anything to do with who I was, he made it what he thought I deserved, what he thought I would like. And that suited me just fine.

In Hartsel it had been the mess and neglect and hurricane storm of hate and anguish. Clothes and books and boxes scattered like rain and it was still mine. For me. My fault.

I wasn't in this room.

Not anywhere.

Except in the small, white nightgown that Esme had laid out carefully in the middle of his bed.

I sat down beside it, my hand passing over the satin gently, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

And I sat.

And sat.

I watched the clock tick off seconds, minutes, hours, and then it was one in the morning and I was still sitting in his room, my hand on Esme's nightgown, paper in the little roll near the door.

_I can't believe we're here again._

I heard his words echo in my head. I could feel the inertia, the anger, the grief taking hold of me. His rejection, crushing me back and to the side even as I knew it wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to be strong and capable now.

I told him I had changed.

_Have I?_

I stood, determined simply to move, and picked the gown off the bed. Quietly, I padded across the room and opened the door. It didn't creak.

The house was dark now, the lights were off, and I could see my shadow stretching large across the floor as the brightness of Edward's room shot out from behind me, into the deep black of the hall.

I quickly turned the light off.

Allowing a few moments for my eyes to adjust, I stepped out of the room and took a deep breath before turning to the living room, squinting in the dark to see.

He was there.

I could make out the shape of his arm, hanging limply off the side of the couch. Body tangled in sheets. I followed the line of the blankets up to his face, turned away from me. I could see his hair. He was breathing low and steady, undoubtedly asleep.

Trying not to make a sound, I backed slowly into the bathroom and closed the door gently. I flipped on the light and placed the nightgown on top of the toilet.

I reached past a white curtain and started the shower.

The water came down in torrents, high pressure streams striking the marble side of the tub with a steady, dull thrum.

I peeled off my sweater, then the blue dress Alice had picked out for me. I dropped them on the floor, not caring if they wrinkled or dirtied. I let my hair loose, shaking out clips and frowning at the stiff strands plastered with hairspray and gel.

I glanced at myself in the mirror.

I was startled by the person who was looking back at me.

I was in a wedding dress, Edward had his arms wrapped around me.

He had turned me so that I could see my own reflection in the wall. He was sure I didn't know how beautiful I was. He didn't know I had been staring at myself for hours before this, that I knew exactly what I looked like, that I resented him more for not seeing what I could see.

We danced.

I was passed from partner to partner, I met Edward's perfect, happy family.

We shook hands and ate cake.

I threw a bouquet, Edward threw a garter.

I let him hold me, let him kiss me. I held him and kissed him back. His hand was on my swollen belly, my hand was on his hand.

I smiled, he beamed.

In the middle of a dance, he stiffened, his arms tightening around me some. I looked up at him quizzically.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, feeling a small twinge of fear.

"Nothing," he shook his head, his voice quiet. Then he motioned over my shoulder.

I turned.

Jacob, beaming and beautiful and holding his arms out to me.

I let go of Edward without hesitation, without looking back.

Jacob and I went outside to speak.

When I came back inside, it was to leave for my honeymoon.

Edward and I didn't dance again.

"Shit..."

My fist was at my mouth, my teeth digging into my skin as I felt the loosening, the breaking. Tears, so carefully held in, contained and forgotten in the presence of Edward's family, finally streaked down my face and splashed onto the tiled floor below me. I choked into my hand, trying desperately to stifle the sobs that wracked through my body, shaking and jerking me. I didn't allow myself to cry out.

I didn't want Edward to hear.

I slid down to the floor, in my underwear, sinking body onto the fabric of the blue dress. My bare arms, shoulder, ribs pressed up against the wall.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" I whispered, over and over and over. So quietly, so quickly it was barely a word. Just a motion of my mouth, a breath in and out. Stifled by my fist and shuddering with uncontrolled sobs that jerked every single limb. My other fist pounded softly against the tiled floor, rythmically, in time with my sloppy uttered curses.

I could see myself walking towards Jacob.

I could see myself walking towards Edward.

Anyone who didn't want me.

_I can't believe we're here again._

My whole body curled in on itself in one long, spasm of pain. Teeth in my fist, pounding against the floor, mumbled drooling swears mixing with salt tears and flushed cheeks.

I was too quiet to be heard of the sound of the shower.

The next day I got up and helped Esme make breakfast and let Edward drive me home.


	34. The Store

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **Anyone interested in translating this story, in any language, is more than welcome to it. I have zero qualms about it, you don't need my permission. If you want to inform me that you are translating it, I do love to hear about all the languages it's now in and all the bilingual people who love this story. You make me feel very lazy, just speaking that one language that I do. Thank you for your interest.

* * *

**The Store**

"Hey."

I watched him, motionless, as he took a step towards me, down the steps. He was wearing nice clothes, a red tie.

I blinked back at him. "Hi."

A long pause dragged out between us as I stared at him stupidly. I felt like every single one of my bones had been ripped from my body and replaced with unbending titanium. Ramrod stiff.

It had been almost a week since I had seen Edward. By the time he finally showed up, standing on the porch in his work clothes on a Saturday afternoon, I was beginning to grow used to the new routine: spending days of bright and easy with Alice, spending nights alone and in agony. Days, nights, constant without a word of him, a glimpse.

Of course, I had known that this moment was coming.

I had known that when he dropped me off at this house without a word, it wouldn't – _couldn't_ – be the last time I would look into his face, so strained and anxious. I had known that I would have to face him eventually. But there's quite the distinction between _knowing _something has to happen and reaching the inevitable moment when it actually _happens_.

I had been heading back from Alice's house, dirty and hay in my hair but smiling, when I had found Edward on the front porch of the ranch house, leaning against the banister.

Waiting for me.

His eyes met mine and my legs stopped working.

I halted several yards from the porch, unable to move.

Finally, when I couldn't take it any longer, I blurted out, "What are you doing here?"

I thought I saw something in the realm of uncertainty wash across Edward's face, but it was gone in an instant. Replaced with resolve and a smile.

"The house isn't going to paint itself, Bella," he replied, his voice light.

_What?_

I looked at him blankly.

I didn't reply.

I could see him struggling in my silence, and it only took me a moment to understand why.

He was willing me to pretend along with him. Silently begging me to accept his words as though I had expected them, as though I had forgotten what had transpired less than a week earlier; forgotten the papers on the kitchen table that I read over ever single night. Wishing desperately for me to play the part of the friendly amnesiac. And I wanted to. I wanted to accept his words, I wanted things to go back to how they were, but I couldn't move. Couldn't respond. Couldn't _understand_.

At last, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

An honest movement.

Then, looking incredibly contrite, he held his arms out in surrender. "Look, I know you're mad at me, and the way I handled things, the way I reacted, I deserve it. But I had hoped we could move past this eventually. I don't want us to be awkward around each other. These past few months have..."

He stopped there.

He didn't trail off or let his voice quiet to nothing with uncertainty, he just shut his mouth.

I could see he had no intention of continuing.

"What?" I asked him out loud this time, dumbly, as if I hadn't heard him.

Edward shrugged, his voice getting very quiet. "I don't want to cut you out of my life, Bella."

That woke me up.

I felt my entire body jerk slightly as I blinked. My limbs were suddenly tingling, everywhere painful and electric.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, even though my voice was weak and whispers. "Isn't that _exactly_ what you want? I kissed you and you gave me divorce papers. Is there another way to interpret that?"

Edward took another step forward; away from the porch, towards me.

I fought the urge to step back.

"Of course there is," he replied, gently.

His eyes were so soft. Painfully soft. I could feel the twisting in the pit of my stomach.

_Please don't look at me like that._

Instead, I simply said: "Enlighten me."

His hand reached out as if he wanted to step close to me, place it on my shoulder. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had tried to caress me like he was reassuring a startled horse, a wild animal.

He dropped it and remained where he was.

"Bella, we've been such a huge part of each other's lives," he said, his tone calming, meant to seduce me to comfort. "It's not like I want to just walk away from you, never see you again…"

"That doesn't answer my question."

He sighed again, long and frustrated.

Then he looked to me, his jaw set, and said confidently, "A divorce doesn't have to be the end."

His eyes locked to mine, bright and daring me to believe him.

God, I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to think that this divorce _wouldn't_ be the end. That we could go on with our lives, forget the papers we signed that began and ended our marriage, be separate and together and talking and living, watch each other grow and love. Our whole lives to get to know each other, to fall in love with each other in whatever way we were meant to; as lovers or as friends or as family. Without laws, rules, or papers.

But we couldn't.

There was no shaking the feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me signing those papers would do _exactly_ what they promised to do, what they said they would do. Everything that had come before was eating away at the small, tentative hope we had built. There was so much history, so much past, tearing us apart. There wasn't anything but a piece of paper keeping us together. Take that away, and it would all be gone.

We would dissolve.

"Of course it's the end." My mouth, my body set against the torrent. "What else is there?"

Edward looked at me for a long time without saying anything.

Then he was standing inches from me, his hands coming to rest on my upper arms. I hadn't even seen him move. I could feel his fingers clutching at the fabric of my shirt, I could feel the pressure on my skin. He wasn't holding me aggressively, painfully, but it was hard enough to burn.

Unable to resist, I looked up at him.

Breathing down at me, he lowered his head so we were eye to eye. It was hard to decipher his expression; torn somewhere between an overwhelming gentleness and a distinctly earnest desperation. The dichotomy was one I hadn't seen before; hadn't known existed.

I could feel his words warm on my face, my skin, my lips, as he spoke.

"Sooner or later you're going to realize that not everyone is looking for a way to desert you."

Then he released me and he walked back to his car.

I didn't watch him walk away. Instead I felt the heat from his touch, the breath and eyes, the words pounding through my brain as he gave a name to my worst fear. So casually, so easily. Like he had known all along.

Because that was it, wasn't it?

I brushed away tears that I hadn't even known I was crying until I felt the wet on my palms, lips tasting like salt. I stood where he had left me for several minutes before I collected my shaking limbs enough to turn my head, my eyes falling on the place where his car had been, now empty.

I heard the words in my head again, the ones I that had hammered behind my eyelids when Edward had thrown me out of the house. Running through the cold with the beating of my heart and brain: _It's you. Your fault. The common denominator._

I was. I had to be.

Because my mother walked out for another man.

Because Jacob walked out for another woman.

Because I had kissed Edward and he had shoved me, clinging and needing, from his body.

I had depended on him – had taken for granted that he'd love me forever, that he'd wait forever – just like I had with the rest of them. Even though I had sworn never to need anyone again, I had come to need him.

I felt a slow build of anger, of self-loathing, and it was a welcome relief. No more numb tears standing on an empty driveway. There was still fire there, even through the painful fear and insecurity. Edward had tried his best to knock me to my knees once more. But I had learned from my past, I had learned from my mistakes, and I had changed.

It was the truth.

There were days during the next week, long and short, when the sun was out and I was with Alice and we were playing with the horses and I didn't think of Edward at all.

There were days I would forget about the divorce that was sitting on the kitchen table, forget about the kiss, forget about the night I spent in Esme's bathroom pounding on the floor and sobbing a mess, forget about Edward coming to the house to spell out my nightmare. There were days when I would forget about everything, until all that remained was the warm sun on my skin and my friend smiling and the horses large and lovely under my hands. There were days when the wind was still and new flowers were bursting from the earth, colorful and carefree, and Alice and I would paint the house for hours and then walk across the land into the woods and the rocks and streams and spend the day happy and in each other's company.

There were days when I was fine.

But it wasn't enough.

Being Alice's friend wasn't enough. Loving Esme and Emmett and learning from the horses and being curious about the land and walking down the paths in the sunshine wasn't enough. Spreading clean, white, healing paint onto the wanting walls of the house wasn't enough.

Because everything that made me happy, everything I loved, belonged to _him_.

There were days Alice would go to work, or the sky would be cloudy and cool with rain, or a horse would be irritable and difficult and unwilling, prickly. There were days when I couldn't make myself walk over the hill, feeling the tight crushing in my chest, unrelenting.

And then there was the night.

Every night, alone in the dark house that wasn't mine, I would go down to the kitchen and stand at the table and look at the divorce papers. I would read through them a hundred times. Over and over. Each word lashing out at me, striking against my happiness, beating in my ears and heart, until my legs weakened and I was forced to sit.

And then I would _sit_ and read them. And hundred times. Over and over.

I would think about how long it had been, the months and months I had lived here, and remember that when this had all started, I had _wanted_ this. I had _wanted_ a way out. I tried to remember how I felt back then, tried to call all my anger and hate and fear back. It was the only thing that could help me now, I was sure. But it was gone.

I felt only defeat.

I would trace his signature with my finger, then. Sometimes my hand would waver over the ink. The clean lines, perfectly perfect. His hand was steady when he had signed it.

The following Saturday I woke up with something akin to a tight panic in my chest.

Everything I had felt, pushed aside and dwelled on during the week all crushed together in the realization that I would see him today. I hadn't spoken to him since he had left me standing on the driveway, since he had tried to make amends. But he had come up last Saturday, and every weekend before. No matter how long or how brief, he was there.

Consistent.

And so was I. Always waiting for him, always happy or angry to see him. He would come and dictate everything about how the day would play out, and I would move around him in a helpless orbit, wanting to please him or pacify him.

And he had thrown that part of me, the part that longed to be close to him again - for the first time, back in my face. Hurled my body against a door and divorce resting calmly in my lap and sleeping through my breathy, breathing sobs at night.

He didn't want me.

I couldn't blame him.

I dressed quickly and rushed, desperate not to see him.

To be gone before he arrived.

To have something, some strength or resolve, when I returned.

I walked down the stairs, out the door, to the corner of the driveway in one fluid motion. There was no natural break in the motion, no blink into changes of scenery. I was gliding down to the large, red, hulking shape parked beside the house and left untouched for weeks.

And then I started to drive.

My truck was loud and humming under my hands, but it ran smooth down the road and fast. Its clunky frame felt large around me, and comforting to be back inside. It had been so long since I had driven, since I had felt the power of moving myself over the asphalt, propelling forward with the motions of my own hands and feet. Ever since my truck broke down, even long after Rosalie had fixed it, Edward had insisted on driving me everywhere. Every weekend, he had shaken his head and smiled lopsided charming and pulled me over to his car, speedy fast and silver. I had thought it was because he had enjoyed my company, that he wanted the close comfort intimacy of sitting side by side on the way to the store. I knew now…

No. I didn't want to think about that.

I didn't want to think about anything. Still, as I drove, my destination became clearer and clearer. A thought, an idea, startling and terrifying started to form in my head. I found myself heading into the small heart of the town, my foot pressing harder against the gas as fear became confidence, then anxiety, then hope.

I had to show him.

This would show him.

Several minutes later I pulled into the one place in Hartsel that I knew, that I was familiar with, that I felt confident walking in to. Only today, my palms were clammy and there was nervous sweat on my brow. My familiarity was not a comfort, my confidence was faked and fragile, marred with unsure. I could feel my heart pounding.

_I can do this._

I ignored the errant thought that every action I took - every thoughtful step taken - was simply a reaction to Edward, and I walked into the South Park Mercantile.

"Bella!"

I heard my name almost the moment I stepped through the doorway. My carefully controlled confidence and optimism shattered immediately, shrinking down to nothing as I was assaulted with the reality of what I was about to do. I watched Mike's blonde head bob up from behind one of the counters, giving me a smile and a wave, before walking over. He seemed to move in slow motion.

_I can do this._

"Hey, Mike," I offered a greeting weakly, my voice unsure.

Mike stood before me, then, friendly and eager, eyes taking me in. "Need any help with anything?"

He asked me that question every time I walked in the store alone. When Edward had come with me, he usually steered clear of the pair of us. Even though I had learned my way around in the months I had been coming here, he still asked. It wasn't a difficult question.

It was only that today, the _answer_ was difficult.

I opened my mouth.

I closed my mouth.

Mike smiled.

"No, that's alright," I said quickly, finally and reflexively, turning and grabbing a basket. I moved past him with a nervous nod, hoping he couldn't see the flush of my face. If he noticed, he didn't comment. He simply nodded back at me, smile fading, puzzled.

_I can't do this._

I walked through every little aisle in the store. I gathered up groceries mindlessly, without a plan or a reason. At some point I wondered if I'd be able to make anything with them, if any of the ingredients could possibly be combined. I would worry about that later. And if I found that I had chosen the unmixable, it wouldn't matter. I had no one to cook for but myself, no one to impress or care for.

My hand clutched tight at the steel handle of the basket.

Every once in a while, my eyes would flicker around the store, trying to find Mike. He was restocking something that I couldn't see, his back was turned to me.

He was whistling.

I had no reason in the world to be nervous around him.

Mike had always been kind to me, without reason or agenda. Blonde haired and baby faced, he helped me with groceries every week, talked about the weather or the town or whatever I felt like discussing. He had picked me up on the side of the road, rain drenched and staggering. He was someone that I could trust, someone that I could rely on to treat me fairly. To give me a chance.

Even if it was a chance I didn't deserve.

When I could stall no longer, when the basket I held was completely full of mismatched cans and boxes and bags, I made my way over to Mike.

"I'm ready," I said, the words leaving me in one, quick breath.

I almost believed that I was.

Mike turned around.

He had been restocking bags of granola.

His face lighting up in a smile again, he motioned me over towards the register. I followed him wordlessly, placing the heavy basket up on the counter as he stepped around behind it and began to punch the numbers of items.

"Find everything you needed okay?" he asked casually, looking up at me for a moment before digging into the basket to fish out a can of three-bean chili and check the price.

"I think I know my way around pretty well at this point." My voice was quiet and staggered, unnatural. Trying to be light and joking, chummy, and only coming out horribly awkward.

He didn't seem to notice.

"True," he chuckled. "So how are you today?"

"Fine," I said quickly.

He noticed that time.

Mike looked up at me, his blue eyes warm with slight concern, his brow furrowed in question. He continued to ring up my order, though, his gaze flickering between my face and the register with a casual curiosity.

"You alright?" he asked me, cocking his head to one side.

I swallowed and nodded. "Yeah."

He looked at me for a moment more before shrugging and finishing up at the register.

I watched his fingers, strong and sure, as the tapped away at the keys; the sound click click clicking into my head in a steady rhythm. My eyes slowly found their way to his face, a look of ease and concentration on his features.

He was so unguarded. So easy to talk to, so easy to read. Good-natured and willing.

_I can do this._

"Bella?"

He must have told me the total, finished ringing up my order, because he was suddenly looking at me expectantly.

I mumbled an apology and handed him my card.

_Edward's card._

He took it and slid it through the machine before handing it back to me with a reassuring smile, before he began to bag my groceries. I tried to smile back. I may have even succeeded. He wasn't looking at me, anyway.

I gathered my courage in one deep breath.

"Um, listen Mike, I was wondering…" I trailed off, my fingernails suddenly becoming very interesting.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think…are there…I mean…" I fumbled, my eyes looking up at him sheepishly. He was looking back at me calmly. Finally, I blurted out quickly: "Do you have any job openings at the moment?"

Mike's hands paused as over my groceries, a box of Basmati rice half in a paper bag.

"You want a job?" He tried to hide the surprise in his voice.

I tried not to feel intimidated by it.

"Um…yeah."

Mike looked at me blankly for a moment.

The longest moment of my life.

Then, suddenly, his face broke out into an elated smile, bright and charming.

"Sure!" he agreed was unexpected enthusiasm. "I mean, of course." He ducked under the counter briefly and popped back up, slapping a single piece of paper in front of me. "This is the application. Just fill it out and we can get you trained up in no time."

I blinked furiously before reaching out with a tentative hand to slide the application towards myself. Before I could ask, Mike had thrust a pen in my hand as well.

"Don't you have to…look it over first?" I asked dubiously, filling out my name and address neatly in the little boxes.

Mike leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, between you and me, there aren't really many other applications. There's a pretty limited amount of qualified people in Hartsel."

"And I'm qualified?" There was no small amount of incredulity to my tone as I realized that I had filled out as much as I could with my education and social security number. I had no former employment, no references.

"Yes." Mike said firmly, with a nod. Then he shrugged. "Considering the qualifications are…well, _asking_."

I slid the paper back to him, trying not to feel embarrassed.

"And you can hire anyone, just like that?"

Another shrug and Mike took my application and placed it back under the counter without even glancing at it. "Pretty much."

Without another word, he grabbed most of my bags off the counter, pulling them into his arms. I picked up the remaining two, not heavy at all. He walked around to the front of the counter and together, smiling small at each other, we headed towards the door.

I looked up at him, my heart still pounding but slowing as disbelief began to sink in.

His face still open, still smiling as he walked at my side.

"Do you own this store?" I asked him suddenly as we pushed open the door and made our way down to the truck.

I wondered why I had never asked him before, never thought about it. He was the only one I had ever seen working in there. Occasionally there would be some other guy helping him, but there was no one regular, no one else whose name I knew.

"Me? No. Well, sort of," he replied as I unlocked the truck and opened the passenger side door. He placed the bags carefully on the floor, arranging them by weight as he spoke. "My family does, my father." Then he turned to me, looking at me firmly, as if he could read my mind. "But, I mean, I can hire someone if I feel like I need some help. That's not an issue."

He was _actually_ hiring me.

I couldn't stop it, then.

I felt warmth, the incredible high and relief of acceptance, wash through me. The realization that this was happening, that I had succeeded, that he had said _yes_. The tension didn't leave my body, but it shifted into a shaking excitement in my bones. A triumph unexpected and new; foreign.

"And you do?" I asked, putting the rest of the bags in the truck and closing the door, fighting the disconcerting urge to hug him. "Need help, I mean."

"What man doesn't need help from a beautiful lady?" Mike asked playfully, with a wink.

I looked away awkwardly. "Oh."

"Hey, I'm just teasing," Mike said immediately, noticing my slightly dejected look and bumping his shoulder playfully against mine. "We're not the busiest store, sure, but we are pretty much the only one. I really _could_ use the extra help. Maybe once you learn the ropes I'll actually be able to take a few days off."

I smiled. "Right."

I wondered suddenly if I _would_ ever learn the ropes, if I could ever be trusted with something so large as running a store on my own. Why would anyone ever trust me with that much responsibility?

My immediate, sinking concern, must have been apparent on my face.

Mike put an encouraging arm around my shoulder, giving me a slight squeeze. "Trust me, Bella. It's fine. It'll be fun!" I leaned into him a little as I looked up at his smiling face. I couldn't resist the urge to answer his enthusiastic grin with a much smaller, watered-down version of my own.

Still, I didn't know how to respond.

"So," Mike said as he released me, "want to come in tomorrow and get trained up?"

"Sure," I nodded a confidence I didn't feel. "I mean, whatever works for you."

"Alright, be here by nine and we'll get you all sorted."

"Thank you, Mike," I told him sincerely. "So much."

He grinned at me again, nodding in acknowledgement and clapping me on the shoulder. I bit my lip and moved away from him, not sure what else to say. After a moment, I walked over to the driver's side of the truck, brushing past him on my way.

"Hey, Bella!" He called after me as I opened the door.

I looked back at him, still standing on the other side of my truck. His hands were resting casually on the hood, his fingers drumming a little.

"Yes?"

I could suddenly see a change in his demeanor. He was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, the same concern from earlier back in his eyes. Honest and worried. Fingers drumming and drumming with no particular rhythm.

"Everything _is_ okay, right?" he asked, his voice a little quieter.

I took a deep breath and held it for a moment.

"Why wouldn't it be?" I asked lightly, shaking my head and shrugging with feigned curiosity.

_He knows._

I was the wife of a doctor from New York. A member of one of the most prominent families Hartsel had ever produced. I lived in the largest house in a fifty mile radius.

And I was asking for a job at a small market store.

I knew there was no way he could know, just as I was realizing there was no way he _couldn't_ know. Mike was staring at me and suddenly I thought that maybe he could see it. Not the specifics, but the drive and the reason. Not the words, but the results. Maybe he could see all of it.

But then again, maybe he couldn't.

He looked at me for a moment more, then smiled again. It wasn't genuine, it wasn't happy or real or reassured. It was a smile that said he was letting me have this. He wouldn't push it. He was someone kind and good and he wasn't about to ask me to admit anything.

I felt another rush of gratitude towards him as he gave me a clumsy wink.

"Bored up there in that big house, huh?" he chuckled, charm and merciful fake.

I couldn't smile this time.

"Something like that," I mumbled, sliding into the cab and closing the door, not saying another word.

Mike waved at me from outside, backing away from the truck towards the store. I waved small and childish in response before I put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the small lot. When I shifted gears in the road, I turned to look at the storefront again. Mike had disappeared back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

I exhaled, deep and long.

The entire ride my hands shook on the shift, on the wheel.

My eyes kept darting to the groceries on the seat beside me, back to the road.

Tomorrow, I would be bagging groceries just like those. I would be restocking granola and punching numbers on a register and helping people find the things they needed. I would report to work at a certain time and do a job and earn a paycheck. I would be useful to someone other than myself.

It wasn't much, but it was something. It was strength or resolve. It was a step, a forward movement. It was what I hadn't experienced before, it was what was missing, it was maybe the 'enough' I had needed so desperately.

I had come here and I had nothing.

Then I had Alice and Jasper, I had Emmett and Esme, I had the horses and the house.

Now I had the store and I had Mike.

I had something that didn't belong to Edward first, that I didn't get through his generosity or his guilt.

I would earn everything that I got, I would work hard and accept payment and it would be fair and I would never have to feel unworthy again.

It was one single man with a smile on his face and a kind word, willing to give me a chance.

It was a small job with small pay, but it was honest.

And it was mine.

It was mine, but it was something I could give to him. It was something I could say to him with pride. Walk up to him when I got back to the ranch house, face him without fear or inferiority, and tell him beyond a shadow of a doubt that the change he had seen in me, the change _I_ had seen in me, was real. So real.

_And here is the proof._

When I pulled into the driveway, the silver car was still gone.


	35. The Help

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Help**

I sat on the ground, a blanket stretched out between my body and the grass, green and wet, covered in morning dew. The sun was still low in the sky, climbing its way to overhead deliberately and slow. It was already warm, and I didn't need more than the light sweater I was wearing to shield against the small breeze that glided through the field on occasion.

Alice had called me early that morning, asking what time I had to go into work. With a small smile, the one that creeped across my face whenever anyone mentioned my job, I told her that I didn't have to be in until ten and she insisted that I come over at eight; that there was someone she wanted me to meet. Nervous and more than a little curious, never knowing what Alice could possibly have in store, I walked over to the cabin only to find that the friend she had wanted to introduce me to was a young boy, no older than fifteen.

When I made my way over to the barn, I saw the pair of them standing there, outside the horses' stalls. The boy was dark skinned and black haired, his hand loosely and casually holding the end of a lead rope, with Jasper's large, lovely paint standing patiently behind him. When Alice saw me, her eyes lit up and she waved me over, introducing the young boy as Seth Clearwater.

"I give Seth riding lessons every once in a while," Alice explained to me. "I wanted you to come watch."

I agreed immediately, having wanted to see another student of Alice's for months, and eagerly taking the blanket Alice offered me and following them to the open field beside their house. I spread the blanket down a little distance from where they halted and plopped down without hesitation. I glanced around curiously at the open land - whenever Alice and I worked with the horses it was always in their enclosed paddock.

I watched as Alice guided Seth through some ground exercises with Dash, noticing that much of what they were doing I was already familiar with. Eventually, though, their movements became more subtle; asking Dash to move his head a certain way, to shift his feet just so, to yield to the smallest amount of pressure placed on his side with the tips of Seth's fingers. As much as I wanted to understand what they were doing, I didn't want to interrupt the low murmuring of Alice's easy voice, the soothing energy that seemed to radiate out from the three of them, calm and standing in the grass.

After nearly an hour, Alice and Seth finally stepped away from Dash, who remained completely still as his halter was slipped over his ears. I expected him to run over to the other horses, or walk, or at the very least bend his neck and start munching on the grass beneath his feet. He didn't, though. His ears remained pricked forward and at complete attention, his kind brown eyes fixed unwaveringly on Seth.

"Ready to hop aboard?" Alice asked, her voice loud enough now that I could hear her.

"Yep!"

I watched with great interest and trepidation as Alice bent down, her hands webbed together, offering Seth a leg up. Without hesitating, the small boy placed his knee in her interlocked hands and she lifted him with ease, his right leg swinging lightly over Dash's broad shoulders. I held my breath for a moment, my eyes flickering to Dash's halter on the ground, and I waited for his muscles to tense up, for him to move or shift with the new weight.

He remained completely still.

"Why don't you take him for a little walk?" Alice said, stepping away and patting Dash fondly on the neck. "Get limbered up."

Seth nodded with excitement and suddenly Dash was walking.

I hadn't seen any movement in the boy, any kick or squeeze of his legs, no tap of his hand. The only thing that had shifted seemed to be his energy – transitioning from relaxed to lively – and Dash understood the cue perfectly.

I was unable to tear my eyes away as I watch Seth guide Dash, with no visible part of his body, in small easy little patterns at the walk. Figure eights and serpentines, occasionally halting when Dash decided he needed to sniff this rock or that one. Seth didn't appear to mind Dash's divided interest and would smile easy and swing his legs over the horse's back so that he was sitting backwards. Dash would resume walking eventually, with Seth facing the wrong direction, and the boy would laugh and right himself easily, never asking Dash to stop his motion.

"He's pretty adorable, huh?" I heard Alice's voice beside me suddenly, her small frame settling down to sit beside me. She nudged my shoulder with hers.

I didn't look at her, couldn't look away from Seth's simple confidence and Dash's quiet willing.

"There's…Alice, are you sure he's okay?" I asked quietly, afraid to speak too loud.

Alice chuckled as Seth, sitting sideways on the horse now, let out a little squeal of surprise when Dash broke into a slow, bouncing trot.

"Who?" she wanted to know. I could hear the smile in her voice. "Seth or Dash?"

I was finally able to drag my gaze away from the boy, now seated completely backwards on the trotting horse, a wide grin on his face as he felt the motion in reverse, his body trying to move to the curious new rhythm. I looked at Alice dubiously, to find her already looking back at me with a calming smile.

"He's fine, Bella," she assured me. "You know that."

_I_ don't _know that._

I said nothing, looking back at the boy, feeling my brow furrow in confusion, in conflict. I wanted so badly to believe her, but every instinct I had was screaming at me that this was wrong, this was dangerous.

Seth would get hurt.

Alice must have noticed the doubt written all over my face because she called out to the boy a moment later. "Hey, Seth! Come over here a second."

It took a moment, but Seth righted himself – never asking Dash to stop or slow – with perfect balance and turned his head towards us, his eyes trained on Alice. Dash seemed to sense this movement, almost as if he was following Seth's gaze rather than any physical direction.

When the pair reached us, I heard Seth exhale loudly. Almost immediately, Dash halted in front of us.

They waited expectantly.

"Seth," Alice said kindly. "Have you ever fallen off a horse?"

Seth's face immediately broke out into a wide, bright smile.

"Sure, lots of times," he said without hesitation, his voice cheery.

_No big deal._

"Did it hurt?" Alice asked him.

Seth laughed a little. "Yep!"

Alice turned to me, her eyebrows raised, as if his demeanor was the answer, as if it should give me some peace of mind.

"You're not scared?" I blurted out.

Seth turned to me, his small face suddenly curious.

"Of what?" he wanted to know.

"Falling off," I elaborated, my hands held out helplessly. "Getting hurt."

"Sure I am."

He looked at me, not getting it.

I looked at him, not getting it.

"Doesn't riding like this make you nervous?" I asked at last.

Seth shook his head. "I don't understand."

Alice sighed, but she was still smiling small. "Seth, Bella wants to know if the fact that you're riding Dash at liberty, with no means of forced control, without a saddle or a bridle, makes you feel like you're going to fall off."

"Should it?" Seth asked, still genuinely confused. He looked from Alice back to me and shrugged. "As long as I keep my balance I'll be okay. I feel way more off balance in a saddle, though."

"Aren't you scared Dash will run away?" I demanded, my voice quiet and unsure. "Or throw you off?"

Seth shrugged again. "Why would he?"

I opened my mouth, no response coming out.

I looked at Alice, who was smiling at me pointedly, then back at Seth. He was also smiling, kindly and still with a small amount of young confusion.

_Why would he?_

When it was clear that I had nothing to say to that, Seth leaned low beside Dash's neck and whispered something to Alice. She nodded her permission.

"Hey, Bella," Seth said, straightening up. "Watch this!"

Without another word, he turned Dash around and suddenly they were cantering through the field. I watched them speed away from me, my heart hammering in my chest. Then, suddenly, they were turning in an easy arc, Dash's movement bending rather than slowing, until they were cantering easy loping figure eights, changing leads like skipping. Seth's body moved in perfect synchronization with the three beats pounding against the earth, his seat never leaving his horse's back.

"He's so brave," I murmured.

"He's just smart, Bella. He knows that as long as Dash understands his intentions he has no reason to throw him off," Alice replied, her eyes turning from her small student back to me. "Believe it or not, horses _do_ have enough cognitive function to need a reason for their behavior."

I felt myself flush slightly, defensively. "I didn't mean they're stupid…"

"I know," Alice assured me quickly. Then she nodded and motioned out towards the field where Dash was trotting again. "Think of it this way: horses have fun, too, when the person riding them is aware of them. It becomes a sort of game."

I listened to the heavy footfalls of Dash's large hooves, watched the rolling and tightening of his large muscles, gliding under Seth's small thighs. I could feel the power to rattle the earth, the thundering, wild energy that seemed to course through horses like air, or blood. How small and helpless Seth was, perched on the back of a wild animal.

"A game," I whispered dubiously, rolling the word around in my mouth.

Alice sighed.

"You've learned a lot about horses, Bella, but you're still missing the most basic concept." She paused and I turned to look at her. She wasn't looking at me unkindly, and she shrugged her shoulders like my inability to comprehend wasn't important. "It's not surprising. Adults always have more trouble grasping it, with all their preconceptions and past traumas." She nodded to Seth, as if his youth was the reason for his ease. "Same reason it's easier to teach young horses, too."

"What?" I wanted to know.

Desperately.

"There's this barrier you've placed between yourself and these animals," Alice told me, drawing an imaginary line on the blanket between our bodies to illustrate. "A matter of the physical against the mental; you see yourself as inferior to them physically and superior to them mentally."

I shook my head. "But that's true."

Alice nodded.

"It's true, but it's irrelevant." Then she leaned in close to me, her voice dropping as if she was telling me a secret. Her lips were smiling and playful. "There _is_ no barrier."

I looked back at her, wanting to believe. More than that, wanting to understand; wanting to _know_.

She seemed to sense it.

Alice elaborated: "No matter how strong or large they are, they will never know as much about their own bodies, about what they're capable of, as we do. And no matter how much we study them or learn from them, we will never know as much about what goes on in their minds as they do."

"Isn't that a barrier?" I asked, biting my lip. My eyes drifted over to the field beyond Dash and Seth, to the field in front of the cabin where I could see Santana's bright red coat, shining vibrant in the warm sun. "We'll never understand each other."

"That's the point, Bella," Alice said, smiling as she followed my gaze. "Our differences make us equals, and together they make us stronger than we ever could be alone. We teach them, they teach us."

There was a long pause as I considered her words.

Before I could reply, she was speaking again. "Every relationship is like this – with a horse or another human being._ Trust_, Bella. That's what it all boils down to. You have to trust them, but more than that, you have to trust yourself. You have to trust what you _know_ to be true."

_You have to trust yourself._

My eyes remained fixed on Santana, his easy movements, the graceful arch of his neck as he bent down to graze against green. I watched him and felt my hand press unconsciously against my lips.

"I've been wrong before," I said slowly, quietly. "I've been wrong my whole life."

I could feel Alice looking at me. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, knowing she understood. Knowing that what I had told her about what had transpired between Edward and I over two weeks ago was running through her mind just as clearly as it was running through mine.

"Just talk to him," I heard her say, her voice matching mine.

I felt my breath catch in my chest, hearing her mention him.

I knew she was right, that I _should_ talk to him, just as I knew that I _wanted_ to talk to him. His absence became more and more pronounced, the longer I went without seeing him. Rather than fading, I found myself picking up the phone in the morning, at night when I was making dinner. I would stare at the numbers my fingers touching lightly against the ones that would connect me to him, without pressing down. Then I would put the phone back on the hook and step away from it.

Last night had been the closest I had come.

I had finally dialed his number, pressing each key with a sense of urgency. With each one I felt my confidence drop and drop to nothing. When I heard the phone ringing, my left hand clenched onto my thigh, fingers digging into denim. When I heard him answer, his voice quiet familiar through the phone lines, my throat closed up.

I slammed the phone back down onto the cradle without saying a word.

"I have to get to work," I said shortly, by way of answer.

I felt Alice tense slightly, and I wondered if she would protest. She had become more and more comfortable with me, more and more blunt. She had begun prying details from me delicately, extracting the poison from my veins. Every time I told her something, some small detail of my life that I had always felt the need to hide, I had felt better. Instead of forcing me to stay, rather than demand I talk to her, her tension released in a small, resigned sigh.

"Alright, see you later, Bella."

"Bye," I offered, my voice slightly apologetic.

I stood to leave, straightening my sweater as I pushed myself off the blanket. I looked over to the boy and the horse.

"Bye Seth!" I called, loud enough for him to hear.

He looked up and over towards me.

"Later, Bella!" he called with a smile and a wave.

I waved back.

As I made my way back to the ranch house, I hesitated next to the fence where the rest of the horses were grazing peacefully, enjoying the warm day. Santana was near the fence, so close that if I had walked towards him and leaned over the wood, my fingers could have easily brushed against his soft coat, shedding and becoming shiny and sleek for the summer. I considered it for a moment before shaking my head and deciding against it.

I made a motion to continue home when Santana lifted his head suddenly.

His eyes locked with mine, his ears pricking forward, his body motionless and attention fixed to me.

I smiled at him and walked on.

When I reached the driveway, I decided against changing. Deciding that I looked nice enough, that the time spent outside hadn't rendered me dirty or ruffled, I hopped into my truck cab and started the engine, pulling out and heading to the store.

I arrived ten minutes early.

"Hey, Bella!" Mike greeted me with a smile, the moment I walked in the door.

"Hi, Mike."

I walked over to the counter where he stood, smiling back at him.

It was Wednesday, and I had come to the store every day for the past four days, training and learning and working.

Mike was a wonderful boss, attentive and helpful. He truly cared about the store, about its doing well, and it was reflected in the way he worked, in his attention to detail. He was constantly teaching, telling me everything there was to know about what they sold, where they got it, how they made it. He was patient when I was on the register, laughing off my mistakes and allowing me to practice until I got it right. He gave me tips on how to talk to customers, whispering little insights on each and every person who walked in.

I still got a rush of nerves whenever a customer came in the door, but more and more I found them to be friendly and accommodating, kind and curious about me – the new girl.

And for my part, Mike had informed me that I was learning fast and working hard. It wasn't a difficult job, but it was my first, my only. My desire to do well, to earn everything I was given, to excel at whatever task I had to perform, seemed the perfect answer to his love for his own work.

We worked well together, respected one another, and got along personably.

"So, I was thinking," Mike said, when I leaned against the counter in front of him. "Maybe today would be a good day to wash some windows? Then maybe we can restock a little, go over inventory, things like that. All stupid busy work today, I'm sure."

I smirked at him, remembering him muttering yesterday about how Wednesdays were always very slow.

I nodded in reply. "Sure."

Mike smiled back and shrugged, almost apologetically.

"There's some glass cleaner and rags over against that wall," he said, pointing to the bench near the far left wall of the store.

"Alright."

I walked over and retrieved the bucket of rags and the large squirt bottle of cleaner, gathering them in my arms before making my way to the door and the giant glass windows that made up the storefront.

"I'll be in the back if you need me," Mike called after me. I stopped and turned to face him as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, motioning to the door that led into the office. "I have some last minute ordering to finish up."

"Okay."

"I'm sure you'll be the first to know if there are any customers," he added with a smile. "Just come get me if anyone comes in and I can hover in an annoying yet loving fashion while you ring them up."

I laughed a little, lightly and happily. "Sounds good."

I set down the bucket of rags next to me, pulling one out as I heard Mike close the office door behind him. I lifted the bottle and sprayed a generous amount of the stinging sanitizing liquid onto the glass in front of me. I wiped at it absently, the rag squeaking clean with smooth friction.

Stroke after stroke went by easily as I picked up a rhythm. I moved quickly and efficiently, all the while staring out at the street on the other side of the glass. Every once in a while, a car would drive by slowly, a person would be walking down the street. Even though it was sunny, it remained quiet in Hartsel.

I could feel myself relaxing into my movements, my thoughts drifting back to Alice and the morning I spent with her and Seth. I found myself imagining what it would be like to ride Santana the way that Seth had ridden Dash. Without reins, without anything to hold me on but myself, without anything to keep me safe but my trust in him. His strength, his speed, given freely to me to help propel me across the land, forward and faster, helping me soar. I closed my eyes for a moment, imaging how it would feel to have that much power beneath me, knowing that it was willing and freely given. Knowing that without force or manipulation, through complete and utter trust in who I was, that horse wanted to carry me with him. I could be his friend, his partner in flight. Not just something that he carried on his back.

With a sigh, I opened my eyes.

I finished up the inside of both large windows and, gathering up the bucket and rags, I moved towards the door so that I could start on the outside. I grabbed the bottle of cleaner, now slippery from picking it up with wet hands. My grip on it was tentative and it jumped from my hands, rolling out in front of the door. Muttering, I moved forward and bent to pick it up.

At the exact moment I did, the door swung open.

I felt the wood hit me against the shoulder lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to shock. Knocked off balance, I stumbled backwards with a yelp, unable to regain my balance and save myself from falling. My body hit the floor, unceremonious and flattened, as the rags I had been holding spilled out behind me, the bucket rolling to the side.

"Shit," I muttered, my body aching as I stared up at the ceiling in exasperation for a moment.

With a sigh, I slowly pushed elbows beneath me and lifted my upper body.

I glanced up and felt everything go immediately rigid.

"Are you alright?"

"Edward?" I said dumbly.

Edward was looking down at me, hand still on the door he had just pushed open to knock me over, his face a mixture of horror, surprise, and concern. He had been staring at me, motionless, but hearing his name seemed to spur him into action. Immediately he was bending down, his hands gripping my shoulders, sliding down to my hands to help pull me to my feet.

"I'm so sorry," he said vehemently, sincere, as I struggled to get my legs beneath me, never once taking my eyes off of him.

Once I was upright, he released me immediately, his eyes scanning over my body with a sense of frantic worry.

There was a slight flush of embarrassment on his face that I hadn't seen in years.

I brushed my hands over my clothes, my sweater, before asking with as much composure as I could muster, "What are you doing here?"

Edward looked around, like he was noticing for the first time where he was.

Then he turned back to me, looking slightly nervous. "I was on my way up to the ranch house and I thought I'd stop by and grab some food."

I felt my heart stop.

"You were going to the house?" I asked quietly.

"Yes." Edward's affirmation was curt, forcedly defensive.

I struggled to keep the confusion off my face.

"You didn't go to the house this past weekend," I commented, unsure of how I wanted him to respond.

It came out like an accusation.

Edward ducked his head.

"I know," he said, apologetically. "I thought you didn't want to see me. That was the impression I got, at least." Then, he added quickly, "I don't blame you. Not at all. I wasn't mad. I was just going to…wait."

"Wait?"

He shrugged. "Until you were ready to see me."

I blinked at him, still confused.

A very insecure, vulnerable expression crossed his features; a real moment of doubt. "You _did_ call me, didn't you?"

My mouth dropped open for a moment.

Then, stating the obvious, my voice very weak: "I hung up."

Edward smiled a little at that, his eyes lighting. "That's okay."

_No big deal._

We were silent for a moment, facing each other, the door wide open, rags everywhere.

I reluctantly allowed my eyes to travel over him, near desperate after not seeing him for so long. He looked well, rested and clean. He was wearing the jeans he usually wore when he was coming to work on the house, and a black sweater that I had never seen. It was flattering over his shoulders, his chest; the strength he had grown into from months of manual labor on the ranch house clearly visible underneath wool. He didn't look like he had come from work.

After several seconds, I could see his eyes start to wander. They eventually dropped to the ground where I had fallen and looked curiously at the rags that were now strewn about haphazardly.

"So," Edward began, running a hand through his hair. "You're not usually here during the week."

"Oh…yeah," I replied, somewhat startled by the comment, suddenly very nervous. "I'm, well…I'm not here to buy anything. I sort of…work here now."

Edward blinked. "What?"

I motioned around me quickly, biting my lip.

"I got a job…here," I said, anticlimactically.

My words were strained and unconfident, my eyes searching his for a reaction. It wasn't the way I had imagined telling him, it wasn't the proud, confident announcement that I had thought up in my head on Saturday. Ready to get out of my truck and tell him what I was doing with my life, tell him that I had changed. That even if he didn't want me, I still wanted myself. Handing him news of my employment like it was a lover's token.

But he hadn't come on Saturday.

I hadn't called.

And so I had changed without him.

Edward looked neither excited nor upset. He simply looked at me, silently, for a long time with an expression that was unreadable.

At last, he said quietly, "I see."

That was it.

After everything we had been through, after everything that had happened, I had taken perhaps the biggest step towards changing my life in a positive way. And he stood there, staring at me, without reaction. Without excitement or happiness or anger or judgment.

_I see._

My expression hardened slightly.

Not wanting him to see me flushed, I bent down and gathered up the rags from the floor, tossing them in the bucket and grabbing the cleaner. I placed them underneath the window and out of the way, aware of Edward's eyes following my movements.

Still silent.

I finally turned to him again. "So…can I help you find anything?"

Edward's eyes snapped up to meet mine. His eyes softened slightly, only a little. He stepped further into the store and closed the door behind him.

"Sure," he replied, voice still quiet.

I walked forward, feeling him close behind me.

I tried desperately to slow my hammering heart.

I took deep, calming breaths into my lungs and forced myself to play his game of pretend.

I told him pasta would be good. We talked about sauces, we talked about sides. I guided him through the store, even though he knew his way around just fine, and I told him about what we had. I told him all the things I had learned about each product, while he listened and followed and made remarks in all the right places. We went down every single aisle, tossing ideas around, passing boxes and jars back and forth, weighing the options. We walked around, pretending everything was fine between us again, because last time I had told him I didn't want to pretend, he had disappeared for over a week.

And I didn't want to lose him.

Finally, when he had everything he seemed to need, I led him over to the register.

"Hang on," I told him, placing the jar of sauce and the Parmesan I had been carrying onto the counter. "I just have to go grab Mike."

"Do you?"

"I'm still technically in training, so he needs to oversee…pretty much everything," I explained with a wave of my hand. "I'll be right back. Don't steal anything, please."

Edward chuckled slightly. "I'll try to resist the temptation."

When I brought Mike out, I could see the shift in Edward's demeanor immediately. His entire body seemed to stiffen unconsciously. Mike, completely unaware, greeted Edward with a smile and immediately shifted his attention to me.

I could feel their eyes on me, one encouraging and one void tense, as I scanned each item. I punched out the total, but before I could tell Edward what it was, he was sliding his card across the counter. I scanned it and handed it back to him before asking with exaggerated friendliness if he wanted paper or plastic bags.

His smile came out as a grimace.

We all knew the store only had paper bags.

Biting my lip uncomfortably when he didn't answer, I quickly bagged his groceries. I found myself wishing Mike would stop hovering so close, stop reminding me to put the heavier things on the bottom of the bag. Wishing he would leave, feeling Edward watch his every move, my every move.

At one point, I glanced up at Edward, who was still looking at me very carefully.

I forced a friendly smile on my face as I finished bagging everything.

Mike clapped a hand on my shoulder and told me I did a great job. He nodded to Edward and then told me he was going to head back to the office, to come get him if I needed anything else. I smiled at him, unable to say anything.

Edward and I were left alone again with the click of the office door.

I suddenly longed for the easy pretending, even the tentative concern and silent regard.

Anything but the tension that had seemed to descend, crushing and painful.

"Thank you," Edward said with a nod, grabbing one of the bags.

Impulsively, without a second thought, I wrapped my arms tightly around the other bag and pulled it into my chest and away from him. "Let me help you carry this stuff," I said quickly, already making my way around to the other side of the counter.

Edward's eyebrows shot up, but his reply was quiet and firmly nonchalant. "That's not necessary."

I didn't surrender the bag over to him.

Didn't surrender.

With a sigh, Edward followed me out to his car, parked silver and shining in the sun. The click of the lock sounded and I opened the back door, placing the bag on the floor and stepping away so Edward could get past me.

He closed the door and turned to me. "Thank you," he said again.

I could still see the strain in his entire body, the stillness that had been there since I told him that I was working at the store; that had escalated and shifted when he had seen Mike; that had remained, a crack in his little game of make believe. I could see him controlling his features, remaining pointedly stoic.

I didn't know what I had done, what he wanted from me, what he expected me to say to him. I didn't know if he would drive away now and go home, or if he would be waiting at the ranch house for me, or if he would cook me dinner or demand I sign those papers. I didn't know why I felt like I couldn't let him leave now, angry, unnamed feelings that should have been normal but weren't because he _didn't have to be here anymore_. I didn't know why he had asked me for a divorce, why he wanted it, and why it still didn't seem to be enough for him. To let me go, to force me out, to hate me or love me. Plain and simple.

I didn't know anything, anymore.

And that was the problem.

_Just talk to him._

He began to move past me, walking around to the driver's side.

"Are you seriously angry at me?" The words burst from my lips without warning, loud and ringing.

Edward stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, his expressionless giving way to confusion. Some surprise.

His brow furrowed. "Of course not."

"Is it because I'm working for Mike?" I demanded, stepping towards him.

Edward was silent for a moment before shaking his head.

"I think it was very kind of him to hire you," he said softly, genuinely. "I imagine he's a very good employer."

"Is it because I haven't called you?"

"You had every right to some space, some time. When I gave you those papers, I knew I no longer had the right to any expectations."

I felt a jolt of frustration as he answered each question, calm and sensitive and so fucking true.

He wasn't lying to me, he wasn't telling me empty words because they were what I wanted to hear.

He was telling me _nothing_.

Edward shrugged at my pause, misenterpreting, and I could see him shifting, moving to leave once again. His hand came down to rest on the hood of his car, his shoulders twisting away as he began to withdraw.

"Won't you talk to me?" I whispered, desperation and longing clear in my words.

Edward seemed to freeze, every limb, every muscle in his body stilling.

Except his face.

His eyes lifted to meet mine, to lock on me very slowly.

Then, it was as if a switch had been flipped. The apathetic vaneer faded. Not faded, it was swept away instantly. Emotion flooded across his features, rampant and wrenching. His lips curved down, his face wearied and eyes tired mourning. His features crumbling and suddenly, agonizingly sad.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was so quiet, so repentant.

I didn't know what he was apologizing for.

There was so much, I never knew anymore.

There was nothing I could think of to say.

But I had to keep him from leaving; mask on his face, hands on the steering wheel.

_You have to trust what you know to be true._

So I answered the words he had spoken to me last Saturday. "I don't want to just cut you out of my life, either," I told him, my voice trembling slightly.

Edward took a step towards me, guilty and crushed green eyes.

"I never meant to give them to you like I did. In the car, with you already upset. When you had…" He stopped. I was glad he hadn't finished the sentence, knowing every scenario, every word that could have painted the picture of what I had done. Instead, he simply said: "It went very differently in my head."

I smiled at him weakly, ironically. "How did you think it would go?"

"I don't know," Edward shook his head, his eyes dropping. "I imagined you…happy."

I choked out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "Getting handed divorce papers is hardly a happy experience."

"There was a time when it would have been." He was looking at me again, his eyes steady on mine, reminding me. "You would have welcomed it."

"I've changed."

There was a deliberate pause, then a sigh.

"I know that," he nodded, agreeing with me. "I thought you would be happy for another reason." Then he shrugged. "Maybe you _would_ have, if I had waited until you were ready."

"Maybe I never would have," I replied, trying desperately not to cry.

Not in front of him.

Because I could see it now, see what he had been trying to say to me all along. I could hear him telling me that he thought this would make me happy, and I understood. For the first time since he had handed me those papers in the car that night, I understood.

_Sooner or later you're going to realize that not everyone is looking for a way to desert you._

He had been waiting until a divorce did not mean he was deserting me. He had wanted to help me, in a way that even I had been unable to fathom.

Pushing and pulling me to my feet, wanting me to live my own life, had not been his original intention when he brought me out here. Screaming in a bedroom and starving in a house and shivering through the nights and I knew that much. But I wasn't the only one who had changed. Somewhere in the torture and misery he had claimed to revel in, he had shifted and grown, he had changed just as much as I had. And I hadn't even noticed.

He had not been carrying those papers around to knock me down.

He had been waiting until I could stand it, until I could embrace it, until I could rejoice in my independence and thrive on my own terms.

I had forced him into a corner when I had kissed him, I had pinned him to the wall until all he could do was throw the divorce at my feet, ready or not.

Because we couldn't go backwards.

He didn't want to desert me, he didn't want to take a swing and leave me spinning like everyone else in my life. He wanted to make me whole, in the only real way he knew how.

I could feel tears, hot and salt, running down my cheeks in tracks and streams, unrelenting.

"I haven't signed them," I told him quietly.

"Take all the time you need."

"What if I need months?"

"I don't mind."

"Years?"

"If that's what you need."

I took a breath.

"The rest of my life?"

Edward looked away from me then, his eyes dropping to his hand, resting against the hood of his car. "Bella…" he started and stopped, his tone around my name enough.

I shook my head, knowing. "I'm sorry."

Another deep breath and I walked towards him, closing the space between us. I saw his entire body tense, lean away from me slightly, but he didn't move. He relaxed when I stopped several inches away from him, when I simply stood at his side, looking up at him.

He looked back at me.

"Can I ask you something?" I was standing close enough to feel the heat from his body, warming my body.

He nodded silently, inviting.

"What do _you_ want?" I asked him earnestly, near desperate to hear his answer.

"I want you to be happy," he replied immediately.

"I know that." I nodded. "You've said it before. But you've _always_ wanted me to be happy. Sometimes it seems like it's all you ever want. Before our marriage and now, at the end of it." I tried desperately to ignore the pounding guilt on my head; the need to release him, the need to cling to him with every inch of strength I still possessed. So I asked him, "What do you want _for yourself_?"

Edward's mouth opened slightly, no sound emerging.

His eyes flickered as they stared at me and I could see him thinking, comprehending what I was asking him.

Acknowledging - both of us - that it was something I had never asked him before.

"I don't know," he said at last.

"Just that you want me to be happy?"

I watched him hesitate, watched his shoulders buckle and slump, his entire body leaning into the hood of his car for support as if he had heard the words I hadn't spoken.

_I can be happy with you._

All the while his gaze remained fixed on me, on my tears, on my waiting.

"I want to fix any way that I've hurt you," he said quietly, significantly. "I want to fix every broken piece."

It wasn't the same as making me happy.

"And once I'm fixed?" My voice was quivering, rattle and shaking roll. "Then what?"

He was silent.

We both knew the answer.

Tied together so tightly, my freedom would be his own.

I felt Edward's arm, slow and comforting, wrap around my shoulders.

I leaned into him, pressing my face, wet and tears, into his chest.


	36. The Words

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **It takes a lot of heart to re-write a chapter you're nearly done with when you lose it in a computer crash. The Kills' new album might have been the only thing that got me through it, to bring it to you very, very late...but at last.

* * *

**The Words**

It was dark by the time I got home; the house cast in eerie blue from the moon, with only a single splash of white burning under the beam of my headlights. To my left, the solitary welcome of the silver car. Ahead of me I could see a single window lit up, cross-hatched square of light.

The rest of the house was untouched, the rooms black and silent and waiting for me.

They weren't the only ones.

I knew he would be at the house before I pulled into the driveway.

Still, my hands shook as I released the wheel of the truck. I dropped my keys as I was stepping out and fumbled for them briefly on hand and knee and pavement. Nervous energy coursed through me as I climbed the porch stairs, trying to place each step to wood as quietly as possible. I pushed the front door open and flinched away the creak.

Then I was standing at the door of the kitchen and I wasn't nervous at all.

Edward was at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair messed and sweaty brow, staring intently at the pot he was stirring in a slow, hypnotic motion. He didn't notice when I entered the bright light of the room, absorbed and unreachable. An exotic smell permeated the air, one that I recognized but couldn't identify.

Not when I was looking at him.

So easy. So calm.

Every fear and insecurity, every tremble and lump in my throat was gone in the instant my eyes fell on him. There was a quiet around him, in the way he had held me and my tears earlier, silently stroking my hair; it had remained in the way he had driven here, had made a meal for us; in the way he was standing by the stove, not noticing anything but the motion of his hands.

"You made dinner." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, before I could keep my voice from cracking the hush. The phrase was not incredulous or accusing or questioning. Standing on the other side of the kitchen, stating fact so that we could both hear the weight of the words.

Edward's head snapped up at the sound of my voice, his eyes widening for a moment as they fell to me. I could see his expression, wary and wondering, trying to decipher my own. As if he had assumed that he could be here – that he _should_ be here – and now, snapped forward into reality, he was forced to question his actions.

Now I was easy. Now I was calm.

He saw it in an instant.

I watched him relax only a fraction, turning away from me with reluctance and glancing back down at the pot balanced over flame.

Quietly, he responded. "I don't know your favorite meal."

"Did you want to make my favorite meal?"

He was silent.

I smiled at him – soft and reassuring – and walked over to the stove.

He took a small step back, giving me room.

I noticed.

"This is lovely," I told him, looking down at the lamb Korma and the small pot of rice.

I looked back up at him, close and eyes forcing contact. Edward blinked at me for a moment, as if he had been expecting a very different reaction.

"You always ate something different when we went out," he said at last, with a shrug. I could see him trying out a small smile, waiting apprehensive. "You were completely unpredictable."

"I didn't have a favorite," I replied, my eyes narrowing, expression closing. I felt myself grow rigid. "I still don't. Still looking."

Edward's smile grew a little and he nodded, as if my words held more significance than I realized.

He thought I couldn't see.

I arched a brow at him, stepping back and leaning against the counter. My hip pressed against cold stone, grounding me as I crossed my arms over my chest and faced him. My chin tilted up slightly. Daring him to back down.

"Thank you for doing all this, Edward," I said cordially, motioning to the stove. "It's…"

"You're welcome," he said quickly, interrupting and looking away.

I watched his focus shift pointedly back to the meal he was currently poking, avoiding my eyes.

My chest stirred and clenched at the difference in him, not really understanding it. He had been cruel and calm and aloof; he had been tentative and apologetic and calming; he had been kind and helping and contemplative. He had become the incarnation of so much of the unexpected in my life in the past few months. He had been a source of fear and of comfort. Always forefront in my mind and stepping up into my face. Anger heated and easy confidence.

That had all gone away when I had kissed him.

And now he danced around me, even more elusive, even more shut down. Afraid of what I might do or say. And every inch of his body suggested that he was here only because he had forced himself to be here, standing prone before me. Just as he had when we first met.

"Why are you here?" I asked him, my voice quiet, wondering and wishing as he refused to look back to me.

Edward hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to the other side of the stove and pulling an empty bowl towards him. He began slowly scooping the lamb, taking his time, dragging it out. He took a deep breath through the steady motion. "I thought we could talk…" he said softly, his voice trailing off.

"You want to talk to me?" My eyebrows shot up incredulously. I felt an apprehensive clench deep in my gut, hope and nerves twisting together inside me. "About what?"

Edward ran a hand through his hair, his finger clenching and catching around bronze strands, tugging and smoothing as he considered his next words.

They were not what I expected.

"The divorce papers were sitting on the kitchen table when I got here," he told me shortly. My eyes followed his as flicked to the empty table momentarily, before returning to the stove. I felt a jolt of panic, wondering where they were, and then the embarrassment of his seeing them; evidence of sleepless nights. I couldn't stay embarrassed for long, though. His voice was too quiet, his shoulders braced.

He looked so, so sad.

My mouth was suddenly dry. "Oh."

"I hate that they hurt you so much," he exhaled, every word deliberate, breathy. Needing me to hear him. "That _I_ hurt you so much."

I shook my head, unwilling to hear him apologize for one more thing. A million times, over and over. Every day and with every anguished expression. "It's not your fault."

"Bella…"

"No." I was the one to interrupt this time, my voice sharp and unbending. "I understand why you gave them to me; where you were coming from; what…what they mean." I swallowed and took a breath. "I'm just not ready."

I saw Edward shift closer to me. He didn't take a step - it was barely a movement - but I saw it. Felt it. He was leaning towards me, as if he was trying to hear me better. As if being closer to me would bring him closer to the truth.

"Not ready for what?" He wanted to know.

"For any of it," I replied with a shrug, holding my arms out helplessly, surrendering. "The independence and the self-reliance and moving and the working and…" I stopped, shaking my head as I broke my gaze from his, ignoring the sharp, stinging prick at the back of my eyes.

Edward didn't say anything for a long moment.

Then I felt him close to me, I felt the light warmth of his hand against my upper arm. Not holding, just pressing. "But you _are_ ready." His voice was stronger now, daring me to listen. "You're already doing those things."

I looked back up at him.

He wanted to hear it, so I would tell him.

"I'm not ready to lose you."

Edward blinked once, twice, three times.

Then he smiled at me softly. "I'm not going to magically disappear off the face of the earth if you sign them," he told me, his tone noticeably easy.

"Then what will happen?" I demanded to know.

"I'd like to get to know you," he replied. "The _real_ you."

I hesitated.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that, either."

* * *

"_You awake?"_

"_I am now. What are you doing?"_

"_Just talking to her."_

"_It's girl now?"_

"_Yeah. And she looks exactly like you."_

_"How do you know what she looks like?"_

_"She told me. She's very descriptive, she's got a way with words. She'll be a poet someday."_

"_You're a dork."_

"_A happy dork."_

"_Think you can tear yourself away from my stomach? It's hot in here."_

"_Are you alright?"_

"_I'm fine. We're just…on a tropical island. There's a little too much body heat in this bed."_

"_I'm sorry. I'm just...it's like I can't stop touching you. And I don't really have to anymore. This all just feels so surreal."_

"_Yeah. Yeah, it certainly does."_

"_Tell me you're as happy as I am right now."_

"_I'm going to go take a shower."_

"_Bella, is something wrong?"_

"_What could possibly be wrong?"_

* * *

The following weekend, Edward called me and, with my permission, came up to work on the house on a grey, overcast Saturday. When he pulled into the driveway, I was waiting for him with the rain; little tiny drops falling every minute or so, spitting onto my skin slow and sporadic.

We barely greeted each other, knowing we were on borrowed time with the looming weather. We worked quickly and consciously, waiting for the downpour to hit and determined to get as much done as we could before we were forced to retreat. We painted the roof and floor of the porch, the railings and columns with tentative strokes. Silence was heavy in the air, thick against the humidity of the day.

There was no tension.

The day ended with our exhaustion in the late afternoon, barely a word having been spoken between us; the rain never having fallen.

"Want to go for a walk?" Edward asked me suddenly as I was gathering up brushes on the tarp. I looked up at him - as flushed and as tired as I was - and I smiled.

"Sure."

We walked away from the house, from our work, into the grey evening.

The grass was wet from the moisture in the air, and it stuck to our shoes as were walked across the field on the west side of the house. My thin shirt was damp from sweat and did nothing to keep me from feeling every gust of warm breeze that stirred over my skin. I walked beside Edward, letting him lead me along a path I had never taken before. The unfamiliar land grew less grass green and rockier as we continued away from the ranch house.

"You know," Edward said abruptly, his voice quiet and contemplative, the broken silence feeling natural rather than forced. "If we really buckled down, we could probably finish painting the house in the next few weekends."

I bit my lip. "I'm scheduled to work next Saturday."

Automatically, my eyes sought out his for a reaction; for some sign of annoyance that always seemed to appear when I mentioned my work.

His face was impassive.

"I see," he said with a nod.

"But maybe Sunday?" I hedged quickly.

Edward turned to me, one corner of his mouth curving upward minutely. "Maybe."

We walked for a little longer, finally stopping when we reached a small creek cutting through the land like a vein of blood, the water black against the dark clouds of the day. Edward stood on the edge, looking down into the water, thoughtful and quiet once more. I leaned against a rock nearby, feeling my arms still tingle aching.

"What's going to happen when we're done?" I asked Edward then, finally giving voice to a question that had been nagging away at me for days.

Edward turned towards me.

"What do you mean?" he wondered, sounding curious.

I shrugged and looked down at my hands, twining them together on my lap in slow twists and bending fingers. I took a deep breath and said quietly: "We'll never see each other."

"That's not true," Edward said immediately, so quickly that my eyes flashed up to his automatically. He turned his whole body around to face me now, his back to the water, his full attention trained hot and hard on my face. He continued with a wave of his hand, "I can come over anytime. You can come to the city."

"I know," I assured him, feeling foolish. "It's just…" I stopped, unsure of how to phrase it, unsure of what I should or should not say to him.

After a pause, Edward nodded his understanding. "Changing the context," he finished for me.

I shrugged again. "Something like that."

Suddenly Edward was right in front of me, his face inches from mine, his hands flat against the rock on either side of my hips, his entire body bending over mine, breath hot and more moisture on my skin, careful not to make contact.

"I want to see you," Edward said slowly, his voice deep and sincere. Begging, tempting, forcing me to believe him. "I want to talk to you. I want to spend time with you without the house as an excuse or a distraction." Then he was leaning back, standing upright again and crossing his arms in front of his chest, cocking an eyebrow at me. "How's that for context?"

I swallowed, willing my heartbeat to slow, my heart to not burst out my chest. "Okay."

Edward smiled a little at my weak answer.

"Bella, we have to start being honest with each other," he told me, his expression losing its playfulness, suddenly serious and imploring. "If you want to see me, just call."

My heart was still beating loudly in chest as I imagined it: being able to call Edward on the phone, invite him over, spend time with him without any crippling doubt or unease. I could pick up the phone like I used to and demand his presence and he would appear, every time. We would be casual and friendly and we would talk about our lives and our thoughts. We would laugh and grow closer and sometimes he would kiss my cheek. Nothing would ever be so easy.

I shook my head. "It's not as simple as you make it sound."

"Why not?" Edward demanded, his eyes fire stubborn.

I looked back at him helplessly, watched the capacity for optimism that he had always had – that I had lost so quickly from my life, eradicated from childhood. Envious and terrified. Neither of us had forgotten how we got here, no matter how often we tried to. Apology after apology, forgiveness after forgiveness, and it couldn't be erased.

Imagining it didn't make it real.

"You say you want me to be honest, but there are some things that I just don't know if I can say to you," I told him quietly. "And there are things that I _do_ know you don't want to hear."

"I want to hear everything." I was startled by the intensity of his words.

"No, you don't."

The images rose up before my eyes, beating and burning into my mind until I wanted to cry out in frustration; in futility.

His eyes sad and agony watching me with Jacob.

His shoulders slumped and scared on the plane ride to New York.

His head shaking and turning with my finger jabbing into his chest.

His voice loud and wild following me out into the snow.

His hands firm and strong pushing me away.

The last image so fresh I could still feel it on my lips, refusing to be forgotten; cast aside.

"Tell me why you kissed me, Bella."

"I…you…" I spluttered, shock and confusion, embarrassment and nervousness, stealing away my voice, making off with my composure. "What?"

For a moment, I thought I had imagined his voice, speaking the last words I ever expected him to say to me. The words that meant he could read my mind, see into my thoughts. The words that were deep and reaching in my brain – heels dug into the dirt – that he would avoid saying at all costs. But then I saw his eyes, hard and unwavering on my face; waiting with a steady patience like a man about to be executed – I saw and I knew that I hadn't imagined anything.

"Tell me," he said again; an order. "And tell me honestly."

Immediately, I thought of all the reasons I had conjured up since it had happened; since I had kissed him. All the promises of passion and love that I whispered to myself at night, my hands shaking around divorce papers. All the ways that I had changed, that I had become someone worthy of his love, and that he had _always_ been someone worthy of mine. All the differences I had seen in him, the strength and compassion I had ignored; been too blind and broken to see.

I dreamed of this chance to tell him, to explain to him, to make him see what it had meant to me.

_Tell me honestly._

"I wanted to."

The moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were true.

I knew that they were more true than any other reason I had calculated and measured for worth. I had kissed him that night out of grief and frustration and envy and admiration, tangled and impulsive against his lips. I hadn't planned it, hadn't thought of it or dreamt of it; in the moment, it was right. Unplanned and spontaneous. And when he had pushed me away, all I had felt was rejection; bitter, burning and instinctual. It was familiar and frightening. There was no thought of him, only of me. When he spoke to me after, there was still that pounding in my brain, drowning out his words with a drumbeat mantra: _he doesn't want you_.

I had spent all my time thinking about the reaction instead of the reason.

_I can't believe we're here again._

He doesn't want you.

_You were bound to me the way I used to feel bound to you._

He doesn't want you.

_I want to see you happy..._

He doesn't want you.

That night, I hadn't been able to hear him.

But I heard him now.

Honest with myself, and all I could hear were his words, looping and screaming in my head.

And I understood.

I felt a small ache in my chest as I realized that – in spite of all our months here, in spite of all the ways my views had shifted, in spite of the fact that _he_ had been the one to push _me_ away – that kiss had still meant more to him than it ever had to me.

Edward was smiling.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

* * *

"_I made us breakfast. For three."_

"_Cute, Edward."_

"_Was your shower refreshing?"_

"_Yeah, it was."_

"_So, what would you like to do today?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe elevate my ankles. Take a nap. Eat inappropriate amounts of food."_

"_I'm all for staying in. We have plenty of time to explore the island later."_

"_Hey, get off. I didn't mean staying in for…_that_."_

"_It's our honeymoon, Bella."_

"_Yeah, and I'm a whale."_

"_You're beautiful. I told you last night and I'll tell you for the rest of our lives."_

"_Give it rest, Edward."_

"_Give what a rest?"_

"_All this constant flattery. You won, okay? You got the girl."_

_"I won? Bella, I didn't know there was a contest going on."_

_"Oh, don't pretend to be so niave. I'm not. There's n__o need to keep up the nauseating wooing."_

"_This…I'm not wooing you. I'm _in love_ with you. You're my wife. You're carrying our child."_

"_Not our child."_

_"Bella..."_

_"Just...stop, okay?"_

"_Bella, I love you. Please, won't you just let me?"_

* * *

"I want to introduce you to someone."

I could feel my entire face lighting up and pulling sideways into a small smile that was almost a smirk as I looked at Edward standing outside the barn door. He was staring back at me, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest. I leaned against the side of the stall, pitchfork propped up beside me, handle resting against my ribs. I had just started cleaning the horses' stalls when Edward had called me, telling me he was on his way to Hartsel for the day.

I had been in the middle of calculating whether or not I could finish all the stalls, run back to the house, shower, and be ready to meet him when an idea struck me, halting my thoughts and slowing my movements.

I told him to meet me at the barn.

"Is that so?" Edward replied with obvious curiosity. "Who?"

My smirk transformed almost immediately, a smile so wide and genuine it was painful pressing upwards on my cheeks. I pushed the pitchfork away from me, leaning it against the wall to my left as I took a step out of the stall and towards Edward.

"Come with me," I said as I moved past him, grabbing his hand instinctively and pulling him along behind me as I walked out of the roofed shade barn into the bright sun of midday.

I felt him behind me, following without the resistance of hesitation. His fingers wrapped around my hand warmly, pleasant pressure thrumming his pulse into mine. His steps kept pace easily, effortlessly letting me lead him around the side of the barn towards the large, fenced field. I tried not to think of the breath I was holding, feeling his skin on my skin. Instead, I imagined him smiling at my back.

When we reached the paddock my hand dropped back down to my side, his hand dropped back down to his side. And then he was standing at my shoulder, looking down at me, still curious. His smile was lopsided.

With only a momentary pause and a significant look indicating he should follow, I ducked beneath the top rail of the fence, slipping between the slats of wood with practiced ease.

My heart beating a little harder against the wall of my chest, I strode up to the large red horse who was grazing quietly, ignoring everything else around him with teeth tearing up grass and clover. For some inexplicable reason, I felt a sudden apprehension, cold and daunting, churning in my stomach. I knew Edward had followed me silently, and I put my hand lightly on the copper of Santana's neck to steady myself. It was all electric intensity standing between the two of them.

With a deep breath, I turned to face my husband, who was looking down at my feet, his eyes trained on the large head that was slowly wrapping around my ankles to get grass on the other side of me.

No matter where I stood, that horse always needed to be eating the grass I was standing on. _Now_.

I smiled, comforted by the familiar gesture.

Then I tapped lightly against the firm muscle of the neck beneath my fingers. "This is Santana."

Edward looked up at me, nothing but amusement on his face now.

"We've met," he reminded me before he looked back down at the horse. "Hello, Santana," he greeted, humoring me.

Santana, rather than looking up, gave something between a snort and sneeze. I chuckled as hot air washed over my legs. He then shifted, moving away from us slightly. My hand fell away from him reluctantly, allowing the distance.

Edward shrugged, his face apologetic. "I don't think he likes me much."

"Oh, he likes you fine," I replied, rolling my eyes. I motioned Edward forward and grabbed his hand once more, this time placing it against the warm fur of Santana's back. "You should have seen the dirty looks he used to give me."

This time, the horse raised his head and swung it around to look at the pair of us, curious now that there were two people close enough to touch him. I held my hand out to him, grinning when he pressed his nose to my palm and dropping his head slightly so that I could reach his ears.

"Seems fond of you now," Edward commented.

When I turned back to him, he was looking pointedly between Santana and my own outstretched hand, scratching gently at fuzzy ears and silky forelock.

"Oh, he just tolerates me because he knows I adore him," I said with a grin, then adding, "And that I feed him."

Edward laughed a little at that, his eyes locked onto his own hand as it trailed softly along Santana's side, careful to move with the pattern of the hair.

I bit my lip as I watched his hand, my cheeks flushing violent cherry as I remembered the same soft, slow motion against my own body; against my skin. The caress of satisfying a curiosity, of learning dips and rises and contours. I watched him – flustered and embarrassed – as he attempted to learn Santana's body with all the devoted attention of a scientist.

The same way he used to crave to learn every inch of mine.

"So, do you ride?"

I was jolted from my blush by his voice and the fear that he would be able to read the expression on my face. Instead, when I looked up at him I saw that he still wasn't looking at me. His face was quiet and subdued, all attention still on the horse or on the question and the subtle fear of my answer.

"Not him," I told him weakly, still captivated as I watched Edward's fingers dance across the smooth line of Santana's spine, stopping in the place where someone would sit. I cleared my throat a little and continued, "I've ridden Dash. He's Jasper's, over there." I motioned out into the field. "And Dollar. He was…"

I stopped abruptly, my words cutting short, dying in my throat.

Edward turned to me, his eyes locking on mine, filled with a wondering intensity; jade uncompromising.

He cocked his head slightly, one eyebrow arching.

"He was what?" he wanted to know.

I swallowed against my fear, reminding myself that everything was different.

We were honest now.

And so I told him: "He was Carlisle's."

Edward's hand immediately dropped from Santana's side and he turned his entire body to face me in a motion so smooth and abrupt I barely saw it. His face was cleared of all expression, even his eyes which had not moved from mine were completely unreadable now.

He was holding everything he didn't want to release; everything he didn't want to show me.

He was holding his breath.

Without saying a word, I turned around and walked slowly through the grass, my steps measured and weighted; like a procession. My feet led me to the jet black horse, strong and lithe, only a few inches shorter than Santana. Muscle rounded and powerful to Santana's angles and lines.

I heard Edward following me, understanding where I was leading him.

I stopped in front of the horse, watching as Edward moved past me. He was motionless for a long time before he lifted his hand, running it inches above the strong, black body before settling it on one coal shoulder, muscles tensing and quivering beneath too-light fingers.

"What's he like?" Edward asked me, his voice quiet and so different.

I stepped forward so that we were shoulder to shoulder once more, his question was an invitation.

"He's very smart," I said, my words little more than a whisper but strong, forcing Edward to listen, knowing what it meant to him. "Smarter than I am," I added with a small smile. Edward's head turned toward me slightly, only the smallest inclination of movement, his eyes still fixed on the ink black in front of him. I continued, "He's comfortable and kind hearted, but he lets me know when I've made a mistake. As inexperienced and unbalanced as I am, he's never let me fall."

Edward was silent.

Then, "Sounds like my father."

I felt a sharp pang, the ache of feeling Carlisle's death again through the eyes of his son: through the feel of his horse under me and his firstborn at my side. The house we were so close to finishing. The legacy of the man who meant everything to this land, these people. The regret and the guilt and the anguish of never knowing him, of having ever let anything stand in the way, keeping me from him.

"Alice says that a person's horse is their mirror," I whispered, hardly able to make the words come out steady.

Then Edward's eyes were on mine, looking down at me with an emotion that I didn't recognize. Unsure, I reached out and touched my fingers lightly against his shoulder, trailing them down along his arm. I didn't know if it was meant to comfort him or me, but for a moment it didn't much matter. I felt the warm through cotton and his eyes softened infinitesimally.

"Would you like to ride with us sometime?" I asked him, my hand against the back of his hand.

He didn't move to entwine our fingers. He didn't pull away.

"That would be nice."

* * *

"_I don't want to argue with yo__u, Edward."_

"_Argue? I'm not arguing. I only meant..."_

"_I'm just not in the mood to talk about how beautiful I am or how much you love me right now, okay? So just back off."_

"_Back off? Bella, what's wrong?"_

"_Nothing is wrong. I'm just…I'm exhausted."_

"_I'm sorry. I know last night was…we probably stayed up a little longer than…in your condition…"_

"_I'm not talking about sex, Edward. I'm just…I'm tired of all of it."_

"_All of what?"_

"_I feel like I'm suffocating."_

"_Bella, I never meant…"_

"_I know. I _know_ that, Edward. You never _mean_ to do anything."_

"_Please, Bella, tell me what's wrong."_

"_Nothing. It's probably just hormones."_

"_I never want to do anything to make you think that I don't love you. Or that you have to…work for that love; that you have to earn it somehow. I'll love you always, with all of me, unconditionally. You don't have to be afraid of me, that I'll leave you. I'm not him. I'll never stop loving you. Not ever."_

"_Believe me, I know _just_ how stuck with you I am."_

* * *

"This food is truly disgusting." My face pinched up in disgust as I placed the hamburger back on the plate, soggy bun and ketchup running. "I don't know why I agreed to this."

Edward was smiling back at me from across the table. I didn't think, after everything we'd been through in the past year, that I'd ever get sick of seeing him smile.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. Rather, he sounded incredibly amused. "I made no promises about the quality of the food. If you had come to the hospital, the food would have been much nicer."

"Hospital food is nicer than clinic food?" I asked with an arched brow, nibbling at a French fry tentatively.

Edward nodded. "Undoubtedly."

"Well, I certainly feel shortchanged."

"On the bright side, the clinic is much more interesting on other areas, cafeteria excluded."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, but I'm not allowed to see these interesting areas, am I?"

"Well…no." Edward's answer was chuckled and shrugged it off. "Confindentiality issues and all."

I threw a fry at him.

It had been over a week since we had added the final touches to the outside of the house, the weather switching from pleasant warm to blood boiling hot in the course of a single week. The shift into June, and the steady creep into July saw us sweating and groaning and drinking buckets of water, trying desperately to finish what we had started in the forgiving weather of spring.

Ten days after he had driven away from me in Hartsel, house bright white and sparkling new, without any assurance of his return, I called him and invited myself into the city. I had told him that since I had introduced him to the horses, the least he could do was introduce me to his coworkers. The truth was that I was desperately curious about his work. And honesty found me admitting that I simply missed him.

My musings were interrupted by Edward clearing his throat, looking at me expectantly. The small suggestion of humor had not been erased from his face completely, he looked to be on the verge of laughing at me.

"What?" I asked, when I realized he had been talking to me.

"I asked you how work has been," Edward repeated slowly, a smirk following his dancing eyes.

I hesitated, looking for some kind of hostility or agenda, some resistance that I usually saw when I mentioned the store…or Mike.

I saw only kind patience.

"Fine. Good. I like it," I stuttered word after word, awkward and quick. After a few seconds I found that I couldn't help but elaborate."There's so much I don't know, about everything. I don't think it's what I'll be doing forever, but I love the work. The learning is fun."

At my enthusiasm, Edward's face lost expression.

"I'm glad," was his short reply. He sounded sincere, thoughtful, but stilted somehow.

"Why did you act so weird when you found out?" I asked him suddenly, my entire body shifting forward attentively. I no longer felt afraid to wonder, and I couldn't quell the curiosity. "About the job," I clarified at his confusion. "Was it just Mike, or…?"

"It wasn't Mike," Edward said shortly, his voice quiet and I didn't think he was lying. "He's…very different from when I knew him. He seems to have matured a lot. He's grown into a very nice person, I think."

His words were slightly hesitant, as if he was unsure; as if he needed to convince himself as he said them.

His face was contemplative, though, like someone seeing a truth for the first time.

"So, then, what was it?" I wanted to know.

"It was nothing," Edward replied with a shrug. "I was just…surprised."

"And now?"

"Now?"

I crossed my arms, unwilling to be brushed off. "You still don't want to talk about it."

Edward looked at me, slightly shocked. Then he tried on a small smile that didn't reach his eyes, shaking his head and holding his hands out in supplication. "It really _is_ nothing."

"I thought we were going to be honest with each other."

"Yes, but this is…" Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration, obviously baffled by my persistence. "You'll be annoyed. Or angry."

"I won't," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I promise."

"You can't promise that."

I couldn't imagine anything he could say that would make me angry with him.

"I won't be annoyed or angry, Edward." I said again. When he looked as though he didn't believe me, resistance still apparent on his face, I continued, my voice pleading: "I feel so tense whenever you or I bring it up, because I'm never sure how you're going to react." I looked directly at him, unyielding. "I just want to know what my job means to you."

Another sigh, this time louder, and then Edward was holding his head in his hands, shaking his head with a humorless laugh.

"I'm such a hypocrite," he scoffed quietly.

I watched him incredulously as he held his head: propped by arms, elbows, Formica.

"What does _that_ mean?" I wanted to know.

"That job…" he said slowly, raising his face from the clutches of his fingers to look at me. "It's a petition for divorce. Yours, to me."

I choked on my own breath.

"What are you talking about?" I coughed, spluttering. "Edward, I never asked for…" Then I stopped, began again with an inhale and slow words. "What are you saying? You don't want a divorce? Because we could just…"

"No," Edward cut me off quickly, his voice loud; I knew he was trying to eradicate the hope he could see on my face. "I'm not…Fuck." He was mumbling and stuttering, just as much as I had. His breaths long and low and steady, trying to regain control. Then he was looking at me – square – and he was making me listen. "You told me you were different, that you'd changed, that you were stronger and better and…" He trailed off.

I finished for him. "You didn't believe me."

"It's not that." He shook his head, his voice gentle again. "I wasn't lying. I really _was_ just…surprised."

"About what?"

"About how quickly it happened. About how much it's changing you." Edward was shrugging again, his face flushing slightly. "About…how it made me feel."

I was shaking my head, wordless confused, asking the question that my lips couldn't form.

_Tell me how you feel._

And for once, he did.

"Remember when you said that you thought this divorce was the end? That you didn't want to lose me from your life?" Edward asked gently. Then he smiled soft. "Well, I don't want to lose you, either."

I could feel the irrational flush, coursing from my chest out to my fingertips, heat beating off my cheeks and the tips of my ears.

Excitement and agony twisted together, as it always was when I was with him.

"How's work been here?" I inquired with a clear of my throat, quickly shifting focus; embarrassed and unable to respond, avoiding his eyes and the heavy weight of his words on my chest, stifling my breath.

Edward leaned back in his chair when he heard the question, his shoulders relaxing slightly and his eyes growing distant faraway.

"Life changing." He said it in a whisper; reverence.

I was surprised at his voice, at the depth and scope of it as it rounded those two familiar words.

I knew that he loved his work, I knew that what he did now had been part of the change I had seen in him; that he had finally been free to follow the one thing that could make him truly happy: his heart. Still, I felt a bittersweet pang, the longing that came with looking at someone who knew their purpose to the absolute when I was still struggling with mine. The ache that came with knowing that his purpose in life no longer involved me.

"Working with these people, talking to them, taking care of them, their families…" Edward told me slowly, still not really looking at me. "There's just so much grief and happiness, so much life."

"I'm glad you're happy here." My voice was sad, but my words were not a lie.

Edward was looking at me then, right at me; seeing nothing else.

"Thank you."

* * *

"_Please stop trying to kiss me."_

"_What's going on, Bella?"_

"_I already told you: nothing."_

"_Will you please tell me what he said to you? What he wanted?"_

"_Why does it matter?"_

"_Please."_

"_He just wanted to congratulate me. Us."_

"_You were talking to him for a long time."_

"_Was I?"_

"_Yeah, you were. I want to know what he said to you, if he upset you. If you're…having doubts."_

"_Why would you think that?"_

"_You're suffocating?"_

"_Look, he's my best friend, Edward. We talked. It was no big deal."_

"_Your best friend? Even after everything he did to you?"_

"_It's not that simple."_

"_It's not?"_

"_I can't cut him out of his child's life."_

"_His child's life…or yours?"_

"_Oh, don't look like that, Edward. You're my husband, he's my friend. Don't be so melodramatic."_

"_Shouldn't your _husband_ be your best friend?"_

"_How should I know? You're the only man I've ever married and you're certainly not acting like my friend right now."_

"_I…Jesus, Bella…I'm sorry."_

"_It's fine, Edward. Let's just forget about it, okay?"_

_"Yeah. Okay. I love you, Bella."_

_"This your first day as a married man, Edward. You should smile more."_

* * *

"You know, I wasn't sure about that green when you picked it out in the store. But it really does look wonderful," Edward said, glancing around at the room around us. "You have an eye for this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" I asked, cocking my head.

"I don't know. Colors? Decorating?" He shrugged, waving his hand around, gesturing emphatically. "You saw how it would look on the walls before you painted the first stroke."

"I didn't see anything. I just got lucky," I said, ducking my head with embarrassed pleasure. Then, looking down at my hand my bashful blush faded into a wicked smirk. "And I'm about to get lucky _again_."

I placed one card face up in front of me, the other face down on the pile in the middle of the bed before raising my arms triumphantly.

"Dammit!" Edward cursed vehemently, slapping his own cards against his thigh in frustration.

He grabbed his glass of wine from off the bedside table and took a long gulp, his expression the picture of irritation.

Remembering his enthusiastic insistence to play Rummy 500 after dinner, I couldn't really bring myself to feel guilty at all. I was sure he had expected to win easily; I couldn't help it if he hadn't considered me a particular competent opponent.

We had dragged full bellies and wine glasses up to the cold room where we settled cross legged, facing each other on the double bed and started the game with laughs and jokes as the violent summer thunderstorm raged around us, just outside the window panes.

"I think that puts me over the top," I told him, adding up my points and knowing before I finished that I would end up with more than five hundred.

"Yeah, yeah," Edward grumbled, not arguing or demanding to know my actual score.

I could only imagine he had been keeping track as well.

I gathered up the cards as Edward turned his body so his back was up against the wall, his legs stretched the width of the bed and hanging off the side. When I had collected all the cards and put them back, I grabbed my own glass of wine and imitated his position, our shoulders only a few inches apart.

We sat in companionable silence for some time. I could feel Edward's short-lived competitive streak slowly relaxing into the haze of pinot noir and the seductive rhythm of pounding rain and rumbling thunder. Our breaths were calm and matched, synchronizing in the quiet without our realizing it.

"I come up here all the time now," I told him without prompting, my voice slow and easy.

Leisurely conversation, more simple and comfortable than it ever had been.

No intensity, no agenda.

I simply wanted him to know.

"Yeah?" He didn't look over at me – his eyes were travelling the walls, furniture, ceiling of the room – but he sounded interested; calmly fascinated.

"Yeah," I confirmed with a nod.

Suddenly, I was looking at him and I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted him to know me the way he wanted to know me. I felt safe in this place, at this time. It was alcohol and humid and late at night. It was weeks of talking and growing easy with him, with his presence at my side and constant, constant in my mind. I wanted to tell him everything he ever wanted to know in just that one moment – looking at the room we made, drunk and mad that he had lost at Rummy.

Still, I knew I couldn't tell him everything; anything.

Not yet.

So I just told him one.

I reached over to the bedside table where the wine glasses had been and I pulled open the single, small drawer with the brass handle. With a deep breath, I pulled out the little leatherbound book that had been my companion for months and months; his voice, his hand, his love when I needed it the most.

"I found this when the roof started leaking. It was in one of the boxes I pulled out of the closet," I said quietly and held it out to him. His eyes flicked down to it immediately, his expression remaining calm and unchanged, like he hadn't seen it at all. "I come up here sometimes and just read it."

Slowly, with an odd amount of hesitation, Edward took the book from my hands lightly.

He flipped it open without a word, his eyes not rising to meet mine.

I had no idea what he was thinking.

"I had forgotten, until I saw it on the kitchen table that day," he said quietly, his voice very nearly a whisper, still looking down, reading snatches of poem here or there before flipping the pages again and settling somewhere else. Then, he clarified, "The day you broke the lamp."

I remembered.

_What did you do?_

I remembered his face on that day; angry and scared and horrified and shocked.

I remembered being so afraid of him, then.

So afraid.

_What were you trying to fucking do, Isabella?_

"You thought I was trying to kill myself," I said before I could stop my voice, keeping my eyes locked on his downcast face, still reading.

He still didn't look up.

His hands halted at my words, though, and I saw him swallow.

He continued as if he hadn't heard me, even though he had. "I took it off the table, put it in a box with my old journals."

I could hear the question in his voice.

"I didn't read them," I told him quickly, assuring. Then I took a deep breath and spoke strong, "But this was for _me_. You wrote it for _me_."

_For you and no other._

Edward nodded his agreement, still impassive. "Yes, I did."

I could see the page where his hands had faltered and settled, his eyes seeming to be stuck on the words, reading them over and over.

I narrowed my vision, squinting to force the writing clear as he held it away from me in his lap.

_Light, so low upon earth / You send a flash to the sun / Here is the golden close of love / All my wooing is done / Oh, the woods and the meadows / Woods where we hid from the wet / Stiles where we stay'd to be kind / Meadows in which we met! _

I recognized the poem, it was one called _Marriage Morning._

I saw the date at the bottom and smiled through the dry of my throat.

"You wrote it on ours," I said quietly, reverently.

There was a smile in his voice as he quoted softly: "'_For this is the golden morning of love_.'"

"Edward…"

"I wrote it before you woke. You were still sleeping and you told me once that you liked Tennyson."

My voice was so quiet when I answered shaky, "I still do."

I knew what he was thinking; I knew exactly the thoughts in his head. That if he had waited until I had woken up, he never would have written it. If he had known the words I would speak to him that morning, he would have felt differently. He always had to write in secret, when I was asleep or away, so that I couldn't ruin the beauty in what he felt.

I was sick to my stomach.

I saw a small smile crawling across Edward's face, even though his head remained downturned. I could see the misery of his memory, I could see the way it mirrored my own every time I relived what our lives used to be. What they were now. What they could have been, once.

_Heart are you great enough / for a love that never tires / Oh, heart are you great enough for love?_

"Edward, why didn't you give it to me?" I asked him finally, afraid to hear his answer.

So afraid.

He shrugged, closing the book slowly and resting it against his thigh, finger closing around it completely, as if he was trying to solder it shut with only the skin of his palm.

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You didn't think our wedding day was the right time?" I asked, trying to sound light.

Edward was quiet for a long moment.

Then, "If you hadn't found it, I'd give it to you right now. Tonight."

I blinked unexpected, entire body startled surprise.

"Why?"

Finally, _finally_, Edward looked up at me.

He looked at me and suddenly I knew that I had been wrong about him.

So wrong. All this time.

So wrong when I had watched him make me dinner and thought that he could ever be the man that I had married, the weak and unchanged boy who had let me walk all over him, who had let everyone else tell him what his life was going to be. So wrong, so vain, so insulting to think that his life was linked to my whims.

It would take more than a kiss, more than any word or gesture from me, to break him now.

He looked at me and emerald eyes sparked strong and confident, shoulders pulled up and back against the wall, neck long and chin tilted up, captivating.

Beautiful.

"I think I'd just want you to know," he said simply.

His voice hung in the air, I held my breath.

The kindest words he had ever said to me.

More than all the _I love you_ and _I want you _and_ I need you_.

Beyond all the promises of friendship and honesty and reconciliation.

This was him, letting me in.

My eyes were on fingers gripping leather then – fingers that painted this house and healed the sick and wrote every line of every poet I had ever loved – and without a word, soundless, I leaned over and pressed my lips to the back of his hand.


	37. The Fall

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

**Author's Note: **To **deenerneener**, it is for people like you that this story is written.

* * *

**The Fall**

Every shift in the green plastic chair caused a squeak, a small groan against metal legs, a quiet scraping against the floor. So I tried to sit absolutely still, my hands twisting and holding tight around the edges as I fixed my eyes on Alice's back, watching her talk to the woman at the desk. I was too far away to hear what she was saying. Every time I heard the automatic doors slide open, every person who walked into the room, I felt my heart stutter beat in my chest: hoping it wasn't him.

Sweat rolled down my back, beneath the cotton of my sleeveless shirt, even out of the beating heavy hard of the sun. My hair was hot against my shoulders, warming the already steady burn that told me tomorrow white skin would flame up red. Looking down at my arms I couldn't see the change yet, I was simply flushed and covered in a thick layer of dirt; dust and grass dry from the heat and turned to mud with the moisture from my pores.

I couldn't remember a day ever being so hot.

Even in the air conditioned room, I still felt the heat.

Even though my limbs were trembling and sore – even though I could still feel the clump of sticky, matted blood on the back of my head – even though my eyes were darting relentlessly around the room for any sign of him – I could still feel the heat.

Flushing my face and bringing my blood to a boil.

"Are you alright, Bella?" I heard Alice's voice beside me.

When I turned to her, she was sitting in the chair next to me, her hand reaching out gently to touch the back of my head, obviously concerned.

She had asked me the exact same question barely an hour before.

Except an hour before, I hadn't turned to her.

My eyes had remained fixed ahead of me as I nodded, never straying from the two pinprick red ears four feet away from the reach of my hand.

Slowly, so slowly, my gaze trailed downward from ears to shoulder, chestnut mane parted long and straight to the right side of a powerful neck, tense and unmoving. Beneath my legs I felt the quiver of waiting muscle, twitching away the bother of a fly from angled wither. My own legs had tensed slightly in response before I immediately forced them to relax, ignoring all instinct to grip, demanding from my body that it remain passive; calm.

I couldn't startle him.

I could _hear_ the heat in the air, the buzzing hum trembling across the grass field around me.

"I'm fine," I told her, shaking my head slightly.

I was back with her, out of the heat and in the hospital waiting room.

"Come on," Alice said softly, reaching down to tug lightly at my arm, indicating I should stand with her. "They've got bed for you now."

I got to my feet with some effort, my legs only protesting slightly. My right shoulder, side, hip ached; I could practically feel the bruises forming purple and raw, violent under my skin. My head continued to throb and I concentrated on not thinking about the blood. It was dry now, no longer fresh tang salt in the air and bombarding my senses as it stained my fingers. Alice's arm cradled under my elbow as I stepped forward.

A nurse with red blonde hair smiled at me kindly, motioning for us to follow.

Our pace was slow and steady, jerking and so uncoordinated compared with the smooth revelation of movement I had felt this afternoon.

When I had ridden Santana.

My heart clenched slightly at the thought, at the memory.

I knew that the fundamentals were the same as any other horse. I knew that Dollar's stride was just as long: smooth and swinging steady four beats beneath me. I knew that Dash's shoulders were just as broad: bunching and sweeping of muscle brushing against my knee and calf with every push forward. I knew that on any horse I would feel that same coiling power, that same energy begging to burst forward under my legs, carrying me into wind and open.

I had known it _shouldn't_ feel any different; it was still to have felt that bursting happiness, aching of discovery and wonder.

I had felt it anyway.

Santana had a mind I knew, he had emotions that I could read. There was a trust and relationship there that made him more than just a body under me, an animal that I was controlling. I would shift one leg against his side, I would release with the other, and he would turn in his response, listening to my signals because he understood and because he _wanted to_.

There was communication, simple and unmarred.

Perfectly perfect and choking on my own smile.

Alice, riding her own lovely grey Jesse, had turned back to me once.

The expression she saw on my face had made her laugh.

She wasn't laughing now, strangely silent at my side as she lead my battered body to the other side of the quiet ER, where the nurse motioned me onto a bed and drew the curtains around us for privacy.

"I'm going to take your vitals down now, alright Mrs. Cullen?" She didn't seem to notice my subtle jolt of surprise at the way she had addressed me. Her smile was sympathetic, patient. When I offered no protest, her hand was on my arm, wrapping the blue Velcro cuff around my bicep with soft caressing fingers.

I knew that Alice must have told them my name at the desk, an easy way to get me seen quicker.

Nothing more.

"Please, call me Bella," I told her quietly, reflexively as I watched her. Thinking of how gentle she was being and how her voice had sounded when she had called me _Mrs. Cullen_. How it most likely wouldn't be my name for much longer.

She nodded and smiled a little wider. "My name is Tanya."

My eyes flicked up to hers immediately, then over to Alice who was standing quietly at my side. Alice's gaze was trained on me, unwavering and completely unreadable. I wondered why she was so quiet, what she was waiting for.

I turned back to the nurse reading my blood pressure quietly.

"Tanya Denali?" I asked, a slight tremor in my voice as her name came back to me, echoing in the far reaches of my mind.

It seemed like forever ago, a different world, as I remembered the way Emmett had said her name with awe; almost reverence.

_I couldn't believe it when he told me he'd turned her down._

Tanya was looking at me suddenly, her entire face lighting up slightly when I said her name. "That's right," she said with a grin, obviously pleased I had heard of her, that I knew who she was. That she was worth mentioning. "It's so nice to finally meet you". She paused, then chuckled a bit when she added, "Although, it's not really under the most ideal circumstances."

I swallowed slightly and forced a smile on my features. "It's nice to meet you, too," was all I could manage.

She bobbed her head slightly and picked up a chart on the table near the bed, jotting down numbers and notes, filling in my vitals and taking my history. Alice excused herself to give me some privacy, telling me that she was going to call Jasper to let him know where we were, what had happened. I nodded, wishing she wouldn't leave me alone, but not understanding her silence, either.

Alone with Tanya, I answered all the questions she asked me concisely, without thought. As I spoke, I allowed myself a moment to examine her thoroughly, without Alice's strange watchfulness hovering close to me.

My heart was racing inside my chest.

She was tall and slender, with a quiet smile that never seemed to leave her lips. Her eyes were gentle blue and her skin was fair, every mannerism suggesting that of a natural caregiver. She seemed almost shy when she asked me more personal questions, rushing through them and blushing attractively, her embarrassment far more becoming to her features than my red ruddy cheeks. I couldn't help looking at her with awe.

She was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.

She wasn't the type of girl who had grown into it, who had to work hard to achieve grace and poise. She had always been that way, I was sure. Perhaps unaware of it when she was younger, now older and undoubtedly aware but seemingly unconcerned. There was nothing vicious or pretentious about her manner. She was quiet and kind and lovely. She came to work every day and helped the sick, eased their pain, gave them a better life.

And at one point in her life, she had chosen Edward; she had wanted him.

And he had married _me_.

Even without the clenching in my chest or the despair squeezing at my heart, I couldn't understand it.

Not at all.

"So, Bella," Tanya said, breaking me out of my thoughts, landing my eyes back on hers. "How exactly did this happen, this head injury?" Her fingers were lightly tracing along the cut on the back of my head. Clean, porcelain fingers tangling up in greasy, matted hair. "Alice said you fell of a horse?"

"That's right," I nodded, my eyes falling to my lap. My hands clasped together tightly, resting on my filthy jeans as I recounted earlier in the day.

I told her how Alice had led me around the edge of the properties on horseback, to field and land that I was unfamiliar with but growing to love.

We had passed the stream Edward had taken me to, trotting between rocks. I let go of the rope reins and held on to mane there, letting Santana pick his own way through the rough obstacles. His feet danced and skirted, never touching one.

We cantered up the hill to the ranch house, Santana's lope slow and easy on the incline, my hands resting gently on his withers, feeling his hindquarters behind me, churning like an engine.

We walked past the ranch house, Alice laughing once more as I reached down and stroked slowly at the sweat-soaked fur of Santana's neck, the hair deep brown sheen in sharp contrast with the bright red of the rest of him. His sweat coated the backs of my thighs, his hair sticking wet to my jeans, but I didn't mind.

I was all comfortable easy, my seat sinking and relaxed against the bare of Santana's back when it had happened.

I told Tanya how I had been behind Alice on the walk back to the barn, breathing deep with wonder and exhilaration, when there was a sudden flurry of activity.

I felt Santana's steps halt, his entire body tensing and rigid beneath mine as a flock of crows burst to flight from just behind the house, taking to the air from their perch on the blackened, dead tree.

_Edward's tree. _

Their loud calls and beating heavy wings had me gripping at Santana in surprise, his immediate stillness shifting abruptly into motion, responding flawless to my panic.

"I've heard that some horses startle easily," Tanya said with an understanding nod, her hand coming to rest lightly, reassuring on my shoulder. She was smiling at me, her face a little sad. She moved her hand from my shoulder, down to rest on the bed by my thigh, as if she had suddenly realized that perhaps she shouldn't have touched me.

I didn't really mind.

Her expression reminded me of Alice's; looking up at her after I had fallen, her worried face above me, framed by bright blue sky.

_"Bella? Oh, Bella, are you alright?" she had demanded, scared but firm, commanding me to answer her._

_I blinked once, twice, and struggled to sit up. Alice's hand was behind my back and around my arm in an instant, helping me._

_"Where's Santana?" I asked, the first words out my mouth pure instinct._

_Alice chuckled and shook her head, obviously relieved. She jerked her head to the left. I followed the movement where a little ways off Santana and Jesse stood, watching the pair of us on the ground. I could see the question in Santana's gaze, his large red head ducked slightly: an apology._

_"Oh, shit, Bella. You're bleeding."_

_Alice's hand had moved to the back of my head - her fingers moving gently over my sore scalp - and when she brought it around in front of my eyes I could see the red stain, bright and vivid on her palm._

_I inhaled sharply, feeling suddenly dizzy. I brought my own hand shakily to my hair, feeling the warm damp and sticky clumps. I could smell the rusty salt of my blood and I dipped back slightly as the nausea swept upon me suddenly and without warning._

Do not pass out.

_I forced breath into my lungs slowly and deliberately. I forced myself to feel the grass beneath me and every ache of my body. I forced my eyes to remain open, mind alert._

_Alice was talking to me and - so busy concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, calmly and consciously - I hadn't heard her._

_"What?"_

_"I said, do you remember hitting the ground?" Alice's eyes darted over what I was sure was now my very pale face._

_I remembered the feeling of sliding without control, the resignation of losing my balance and the realization I could do nothing to stop it._

_I remembered falling._

_I remembered Alice over me._

_"No," I told her honestly, through gritted teeth and sharp breathing._

_Alice nodded quietly, as if she had expected it._

_She tugged at my arm gently. "Come on, up you get. We have to get you to the hospital."_

"Alice was right to bring you in, you know," Tanya remarked with a firm nod. "If you lose consciousness at all, even for a second, it generally means you have a concussion. It's smart to get checked out, even if you think you're fine."

I nodded quietly.

Alice had told me the same thing when I had resisted, flaunting her medical knowledge and startling me with her concern. I had had no choice but to crawl into her yellow Jeep, head pounding and stuffy hot air surrounding me as she put the horses back in their field, no matter how afraid I was.

Not of hospitals or blood or possible brain injuries.

All I could think about was Edward.

I could see so clearly in my mind the tight expression on his face, his fear and concern whenever he mentioned my riding. Worry and doubt. Telling me that it wasn't a good idea to ride Santana, that he was too dangerous, too unpredictable.

And he had been right in thinking that I couldn't handle that horse; couldn't ride him; wasn't good enough.

It killed me that he had been right.

As if she knew exactly where my thoughts had lead me, Tanya asked me suddenly, "So how did Edward react to you little misadventure?" She chuckled lightly and motioned to the room around us. "I'm surprised he's not here, barking orders and scowling."

Tanya's cheery, casual mention of Edward caused my face to pale slightly, imagining what it would be like, what I would feel, if he _did_ actually walk through those sliding doors and see me.

"I…" I swallowed and glanced around at nothing. "Alice said he was at the clinic."

"I believe he is," Tanya said with a shrug. "He's not in the hospital today."

I released a small breath, a sigh of relief escaping my lips without my permission. Tanya looked at me curiously, her expression shifting slightly, wondering.

"Are you…you didn't call him?" she asked me, obviously confused.

I felt my entire face flush bright red, unsure of what to tell her. Unsure of what I could say that wouldn't arouse her suspicion. Unsure of what I could say that would be the truth. Because I wasn't quite sure myself. When Alice had offered to call him from the car, when she had begun to drive me to the clinic where she knew he was, it had only been my instinctive reply that had stopped her.

I wasn't sure where the instinct came from.

"I haven't really…I…" I stuttered, helpless beneath Tanya's questioning gaze.

"Here," she said, cutting me off and moving away from me to pull the curtain back. "I can run and page him real quick."

"No," I said quickly, forcefully. My hand shot out and grabbed her wrist; yet another reflex. My fingers went all the way around her dainty bones, the tips of my thumb and middle finger touching as they wrapped around soft skin. Tanya stopped immediately, turning to look at me with eyes wide at my reaction. I quieted my voice as I implored, "Please, I don't want to bother him with something like this."

"Why not?" Tanya asked, moving back towards me and pulling up a chair beside the bed. She didn't sit in it.

I released my hold on her instantly.

I could see her waiting for my answer, waiting for me to tell her something that would make sense. The reason I wouldn't want my husband to see me like this, in a hospital, battered and needing. Her eyes were so blue and soft, her face showing nothing but polite concern.

Still, I couldn't tell her.

I couldn't tell her because she would never understand why I couldn't face Edward, couldn't look at him, knowing that I had failed Santana. I wasn't sure when exactly they had become linked in my mind, but the transition was so inevitable, so clear and so simple that it couldn't be denied.

I hadn't ready to ride him.

And I had been so sure that I was.

But I didn't just lose my balance and fall off. Santana had wanted me off, had forced me off.

I could see it all so clearly now, as if it had happened in slow motion – burrowed into my brain: he had barely even moved. The birds flew up and all he did was tense, just a little, just for a moment. But I? I was braced for it, waiting for the fall, waiting for him to drop me to the ground. What choice did he have, when I practically dared him to? When I had told him, clear as day, in the only language he knew, that it was the only thing I expected of him.

That horse _trusted_ me. He trusted me and I thought I had earned it, I thought I had done everything I could – everything I should – to be worthy of it. Of him. But I had been wrong. The only thing I had really needed to do to be worthy of it was the one thing I hadn't done: trust him in return.

All this time I had felt like if I could get an animal like that – so pure and unbiased and intelligent and understanding – if I could get him to trust me, to love me, then it would mean that there was something in me worth loving.

And now, bruised and bloodied, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Bella," Tanya said quietly, breaking my silence with her voice like music. "I've known Edward for a long time. Since we were kids. I saw him almost every day from nursery to high school..." She trailed off, but it was clear what she was implying.

She said it like it meant something.

It made me angry that it _did_.

"And I'm married to him," I snapped, my eyes flicking up to meet hers in a challenge. Unwilling to let her tell me what to do, not wanting to listen to her talk about things that she could never understand. She didn't know me and she didn't know Edward anymore.

Not after I got through with him.

Tanya's eyes widened and another attractive flush spread over cream white cheekbones. "Of course," she murmured, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" I trailed off, bile rising in my throat, wishing I could take back those words. Take back everything they didn't mean.

Tanya had known him, had cared about him, had been kind to him.

As a child she had wanted him even though she couldn't have him.

For all I knew, she could have felt about him that way I felt about Jacob.

Which would make me…

I wanted to fling her out of my sight and climb under the covers of this hospital bed. I wanted Alice to say something rather than perch behind me like a specter, pale and listening, or running off to talk to Jasper. I wanted to not have to think about these things, not have to understand every single life I had affected and ruined. I wanted to not know the truth about any of this.

I wanted a distraction.

"What was he like?" I asked Tanya suddenly, keeping my words kind and inquisitive.

Inviting her back from her subtle dejection.

She looked up at me shyly, her head cocked in question. "Like?"

"When you knew him; when he was younger," I elaborated. "Was he very different?"

Tanya was silent for a moment, considering me or the question. I wasn't sure which.

"In a lot of ways he's exactly the same," she replied slowly, thoughtfully. Her eyes grew distant as she remembered. "When he came to the hospital to start work I felt like time had gone backwards. He's still so kind, so polite, so smart. Handsome." She smiled a little at the last word. Then her brows were furrowed and she was no longer smiling. She was puzzling. She added hesitantly, "But he's different, too."

"How?" I breathed the question, unable to raise my voice any louder than a whisper.

I wondered what she would say.

That he was bitter now? Angry?

That he had become cold towards her? Or warm?

That he was sad all the time? That he was happy all the time, here in the hospital and away from the rest of his world?

That he was miserable in his marriage?

Or maybe that he looked like a man who wanted to divorce his wife.

"He's lived a lot of life," she said simply.

I stared back at her, at this kind woman who was taking care of me and speaking gently of my husband and wondering and courteous. I saw the way she knew things, even when she didn't know them. She knew nothing of the details, nothing of what he had been through, but she could still see it, somehow. She saw Edward living life. Living life when he married me, when he moved to New York, when his father died.

When I lost our son.

Suddenly, I wished that I could tell this woman what I had done to Edward.

I knew that I couldn't because she was his. Just like the rest of them, she loved him first. She belonged to him, not to me.

Still, I wanted to tell her.

That it was all my fault.

"And then there's you," she said suddenly, with a sigh.

I felt a jolt of shock shoot through my entire body, jerking my limbs slightly and feeling her eyes still soft on my face.

"Me?" My voice trembled under the word.

"When I knew him, Edward never had a girl. Never showed any interest," she explained, her lips curling up into an inexplicable smile. "Gosh, none of us thought he would ever get married. He always just seemed the type who would end up married to his career, you know?" She paused then and shook her head, her smile growing a little wider, looking at me almost tenderly. Then, "When he talks about you…"

She trailed off, looking at me with affection that I'd never earned.

I swallowed and repeated the only words I had heard her say. "He talks about me?"

"Not often. He's always been such a private person," she replied, shaking her head as if she was assuring me. "When he does, though, _that's_ when I see the difference; the difference between the boy I knew and the man he is now. That's when I feel like I don't know him at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she said lightly, with a shrug and little unsure smile at the intensity of my question. "It's hard to explain. He just…doesn't really talk about you like a man usually talks about his wife."

I wanted to ask her what she meant again, but I wasn't sure that I could.

I wasn't sure that I wanted to hear the answer.

Wasn't sure I could force the words out of my mouth.

Tanya continued in my silence, her face lighting up, cheery again. "I never thought I could bring it up to him, but I really _was _dying to meet you."

I forced a smile on my face.

It wasn't difficult.

"And now that you have?" I asked her, sounding casual and holding my breath.

"Now that I've met you, Bella," Tanya said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, her eyes earnest on mine. "I think you should call him."

I leaned away from her, my heart suddenly pounding, my throat dry.

Seeing my expression, Tanya smiled sadly.

"He'd want to know you're alright."

* * *

The sun was setting quickly, lighting up the sky beautiful yellow and blood red bits. I watched the dark silhouettes of the city fade darker and darker into the rearview mirror as Alice and I drove away from the abstract shapes of the buildings, rising from the earth like angled sharp giants. My elbow rested on the open window of the passenger door, feeling the wind of speed whip around me and sooth the aching heat that had only started to fade from the land, the sun unable to take it fast enough. The air teased and rushed against my singed skin and whipped through my hair mercilessly.

After a couple hours of tests, of talking to Dr. Banner – one of Edward's older and friendly colleagues – I was finally released back into the world, the afternoon giving way to evening in a slow, graceful arc. Alice had been by my side through all of it, leaving me only that once to call Jasper, to tell him what had happened. I didn't need to tell her not to call Edward. I knew she wouldn't.

The entire day, Tanya's words had been rattling around in my head, refusing to leave me in peace.

I could see her eyes imploring and sweet, feel her forming words without knowing what she was saying. I wanted so badly to believe her, to believe any of it, and then we drove past the cabin and I could see Santana standing out in the field, tall and unaffected by the contents of the day. My attempt, and my failure, had meant nothing to him. He was no different for it. Incapable of feeling remorse for hurting me, unable to understand the repercussions of what he had done. Completely and perfectly content. Not angry at me at all. Which made me, in turn, unable to be angry with him.

I felt only sadness when I looked at him.

A terrible and aching kind of anguish as my eyes travelled the looming shape walking in the near-dark, legs bright white even in the diminishing sun.

Tanya's words in my head and Santana's bruises on my body.

All leading back to Edward.

When Alice pulled the Jeep up to the ranch house, I paused rather than getting out. My friend had not spoken to me all day and, as I looked over to her, I saw that she was struggling to speak now. I waited patiently, watching her eyes dart through the invisible words I knew were running through her head.

My hand came to rest on the handle of the door and stayed there, unmoving.

"I want to apologize, Bella," Alice said quietly, at last.

I felt bereft at her words, at her apology, not understanding it and not particularly welcoming it.

"For what?" I demanded of her, my brows furrowing.

Her face looked guiltier than I had ever seen it.

I hadn't thought her capable of the emotion.

"Today was very difficult for you," she said simply, stating what we both knew to be a fact. "And I'm responsible for it."

I couldn't help the small laugh that burst from my mouth unbidden. "How was this your fault in any way, Alice?"

"I let you ride him before you were ready," she said, looking down at her hands. "You could have gotten hurt. Seriously hurt. I didn't…I should have known better."

I could see her blaming herself, see her mind thinking of Edward's reaction just as I had been all day. She had been relieved when I hadn't called him and had felt guilty the entire day because of that relief. More than that, she had simply been worried about me, her friend that she cared about, loved, and struggling with feelings of blame and responsibility.

I wanted to reach out and comfort her, reassure her.

Instead, my cheeks flushed and I went the other way as I thought of her wishing this day had never happened; that she hadn't let me ride him.

I turned my entire body to face her, my hand releasing the door as I stared directly at her.

Reluctantly, feeling my gaze, she turned her eyes to mine.

I put as much fire and conviction into my stare as I was able to, needing her to understand. "Don't you _dare_ take this from me, Alice."

Alice blinked.

I could see her guilt fade into surprise.

Then into thoughtfulness and gratitude.

Finally, the frown that had remained on her face morphed into a tentative smile, her lips curling and her eyes lighting the tiniest amount.

"It was a great ride," she breathed, nodding her head once.

I smiled back at her.

"Like nothing I've ever felt," I told her honestly. "And if I never feel it again, it will be enough."

She whispered my name quietly and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around me, twisting body in the seat and across the console. I returned her embrace with a small smile, my hand patting at her back soothingly, hoping to convey truth with my body.

_It was worth it._

We released each other after a few silent minutes, both grinning now at each other, no longer any tension between us.

Alice offered to stay the night with me.

I told her to go home to Jasper and went inside.

As soon as I walked into the dark of the ranch house, flicking on the lights with a sigh, I didn't know why I had sent her away. I knew that she had wanted to stay with me, just as I knew that I didn't want to be alone. Still, there was something that had kept me from saying yes; some reason that spending the evening in her lively company did not seem right.

I didn't know what it was until I had curled up on the couch in the library, pillow at my back and leather book in hand.

_I watched thee when the foe was at our side/Ready to strike at him, or thee and me_

My eyes and fingers both traced along the Byron that Edward had written later in the book, under a date that I did not recognize. I knew then, reading each yearning stanza of the poem, own of my favorites, why I had sent Alice away from the ranch house.

He had no way of knowing what had happened today. There was no one who should have been inclined to tell him. He had no cause to think that anything was wrong. No phone call to indicate that he would be coming to the house simply for a visit or a chat. The house was finished being painted, the inside clean and home again. He had a life, a job and mother and sister in the city.

There was no reason for him to come.

None in the world.

_Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not/And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will/Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot/To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still._

I was waiting for him.

Without cause or justification, I waited for hours into the evening – the last trace of day fading from the sky beyond the windows, turning the land to black and mystery, disappearing behind the glare of light cast by the lamp near my head.

I waited without knowing that I did until, with a single moment of clarity, I heard the front door slam open.

He was calling my name.

Dropping the book in shock that was more electrical physical than surprise, I lurched to my feet, the pillow toppling behind from the abruptness of my movement, onto the floor. I remembered, for the first time since I had returned to the house, that I hadn't changed my clothes. I hadn't cleaned up. I hadn't showered away the dirt and grime, hadn't brushed the blood from my hair, hadn't washed the shirt and dust-stained pants that had surely now marked the clean couch.

I listened to him marching through the kitchen, loud steps quick and purposeful into the hallway, and I knew the heated flush was rising to my cheeks.

My heart pounding like the beating of a drum.

Suddenly, he was at the door to the library.

He saw me, hesitating only for a moment as wild, flaming eyes licked over my skin.

Then he was moving again, into the room and towards me.

"Bella!" He said my name so loudly, so forcefully. "How could you do this to me?"

I started slightly at his words, not expecting them.

My confusion was immediate and rendered me suddenly and frustratingly helpless.

"W-what?"

"I go to the hospital to finish up some paperwork and all of a sudden I have Dr. Banner telling me that I had just missed you, that you had been in the ER!" He spat at me, his voice loud and hysterical enraged. I could see the worry in his eyes, behind his exasperation, crazed. "_Dr. Banner!_"

He was in my face, his breath across my skin and his words and tone lashing wounds into my head. His body was inches from mine, hum and spark nearly demanding that I reach out and close the distance, even as I resisted. I would sooner touch a raging lion, golden hypnotic graceful in its fury.

"I…" I began, unsure of what to say.

He cut me off, not paying any attention to my attempt.

"Then I have _Tanya_ telling me that you didn't want to _bother me_ at work!" He cried, her named rolling from his tongue with incredulity. "Because _she_ saw you, too. Everyone at the whole goddamned _hospital_ knew what had happened except me!"

Then he was away from me, backing up and turning around towards the door and back again.

Pacing closer, farther, closer, farther.

His hands were on me suddenly, fingers gripping around my biceps tight as a vice to crack bones. His eyes were burning so close to mine, scorching and uncontrolled. I could hear pounding beats and breathing and I didn't know if they were mine or his.

"After all we've been through! After all those promises to be honest with each other!" His grip on my arms loosened and tightened with each word he uttered. I could feel him press against the ache I already felt from my fall. "I thought you were actually starting to open up to me! Let me into your life a little! And the first time something goes wrong, you pretend like I don't even _exist_!"

The last word rang in the air, on the silence of an inhale.

I remained motionless, rigid in the hands that held me.

My face burned and my arms ached, but I didn't cry out.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his face softened. His hands released me only to wrap around my shoulders, dragging my body into his, enclosing me with a sudden desperation. Ever tense muscle relaxed against his chest as he held me gently now but tight. He mrumured an apology into my ear, so quiet and remorseful. I could feel his ragged breathing against my dirty hair and I knew, I _knew_, that this was survival.

Assuring himself that I was alive.

I felt him pushing me away slightly, his hand reaching up to pull my chin upwards, forcing my eyes to his.

"Why, Bella?" Edward asked me softly, his voice too quiet, too kind. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I pulled my chin from his grasp slightly, but he understood. His hand dropped back down to his side. I held his eyes in mine, still, unable to drop them and refusing to let go of him.

"Because I didn't want you to look at me like you're looking at me now."

I felt Edward's arms loosen around me, his face filled with a sudden confusion. "What?"

I pulled myself from him even as I pushed him back.

He took a step away from me, as I wheeled around, turning my back towards him as I fought the tears that had been building inside of me all day.

The reason I couldn't tell him.

Then, it burst from me.

"I couldn't ride him, Edward!" I said at last, loud and yelling. I turned back to face him, even as I let my tears and emotion turn to anger, turn to fire. "I couldn't ride that goddamn horse and it was the only thing I ever wanted! You were right to be worried, right to think that I…that I couldn't handle him." My voice broke and my eyes fell from his, feeling defeat coursing through me, my anger flicker dwindling as I heard the words spoken aloud; knowing the truth in them. I struggled to keep my grip on it, willing it to keep burning, holding my tears at bay. "And I couldn't bear to see the look in your eyes when I told you. When you knew you were right about him...and about me."

Edward's confusion had turned to surprise and narrowed eyes. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Your pity, Edward!" I stepped into him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "So don't fucking look at me like that! I don't want it!"

Edward stepped back slightly, allowing me to push him, but I could see his expression hardening slightly.

"I don't pity you," Edward said calmly, firmly in response.

"Like hell!" I cried out, my temper flaring at his denial. "You've _always_ pitied me! From the very beginning! Maybe you loved me then, maybe you didn't, but you slept with me that first night because you pitied me! You married me because I was so fucking pathetic and alone! You never raged or screamed or stood up for yourself, no matter what kind of hell I put you through because you couldn't bear to upset poor, broken Bella!"

Edward was quiet for a long moment.

Then, his voice so quiet, so filled with venom and bite, "You don't know _anything_."

"Don't I?" I laughed bitterly, hysterically. "I've _always_ been your little pet project. Why don't you see if you can turn this pitiful little girl into someone worth loving, right? Isn't that why you brought me out here?"

I saw the flash of sudden shock on his face, but I ignored it.

"And _now_!" I continued, with a wave of my hand. "Now I'm finally happy. I finally feel like everything has changed between us, like maybe you don't look down on my anymore. Maybe I _am_ worthy of…of something _more_. And then something like _this_ happens and you'll just…" I stuttered for a moment, searching for the right way to phrase it. Finally, "I go back to being delicate little Bella who needs to be taken care of!"

My breath was coming in violent bursts and gasps, my heart thumping in my eardrums, butterfly wings and bird feather beats.

Edward looked at me, his mouth open slightly, staggered. I could see him processing my words, I could watch as his mind wrapped around everything I had said and decide what to do with it.

As I found calm, I could see him losing it.

I watched, afraid and fascinated, as his alarm slowly and smoothly gave way to indignation and annoyance.

"How can you think this of me?" he hissed, at last.

"I don't want you to see weakness in me," I told him, my voice quieter now, but still firm and still conscious. Every bit of strength that I wanted him to see. Every bit of strength I had left. "Never, _never_ again."

There was another long pause.

Edward seemed to be studying me now, choosing his words carefully.

"I had no idea." His voice was a whisper and a shaking head.

I blinked, caught off guard once more by his words. "About what?"

"I had no idea you were so blind," he said as he took a step towards me, scowling, brows furrowed and frustrated. "You can't see yourself. You certainly can't see me."

"What are you –" I started to ask.

He cut me off once again.

"Pity, Isabella, is a horrible emotion. I despise anyone who holds it up as a virtue," he said quietly, his voice low and menaced with an honesty and revulsion I had never heard before. "It is a deep, dark aching feeling that finds no light and no hope, only depravity and shame. The person you pity is the person you have no respect for, the person who is completely and horribly void of redeeming qualities." I felt my heart sink, twisting in my stomach, when he paused. Then, "I have never, in my entire life, pitied _you_."

He was close to me then, his gaze so intense on me.

"No…" I didn't know where the word came from, or what it meant.

I could feel my head shaking, my hands quivering, and I took a step back.

He moved with me. Towards me.

"Not then, and not now," he continued. Then he added, with a slightly derisive smile, "You haven't changed. Not one bit."

I felt as though he had slapped me in the face.

I fought the stinging in my eyes once more, willing it back so that I could face him, vision unblurred.

_Turn it to anger and stand up straight._

"How can you say that?" I snapped at him.

All the months here, all we had been through, every step I had taken to make my life better. I had worked and earned and helped and smiled. I had learned what it meant to forgive, and to love. I had ached and longed and felt sadness for someone other than myself. I had seen value in my life, seen value in the lives of those around me.

I felt as if nothing in me was the same.

It was all upheaval and torture and the struggle to stay the truth.

How could he deny it?

But then, he wasn't.

He was shaking his head and smiling at me, just a little.

"The woman I married, the woman I _loved_…for a long time I thought I was wrong about her. That I had been wrong my entire life." He was looking straight at me, his words slow and deliberate. "But I _wasn't_. Not about you."

My chest expanded slightly with my sharp intake of breath.

When he took another step towards me, I didn't move away.

I couldn't say anything.

"Everything that's happened out here…some of it's been horrible, some of it I regret more than words. But I wouldn't do it any differently. Because it allowed me to see you again..._really_ see you. Without everything else in the way, I could see with complete and perfect clarity exactly what you are." He paused, I held my breath. "You've given me back something that I thought I'd lost."

His hands were on me again, this time gentle. One hand on my shoulder, the other reaching up to my face, thumb brushing against the corner of my jaw tenderly.

"Even at your worst, even at your most horrible and cruel and miserable and depressed, I never _pitied_ you."

His leaned and then his lips were brushing lightly against my forehead.

"There is nothing in you that even knows the meaning of the word."

I could feel his body, so warm and close to mine. He remained still, his mouth now breathing steady against my hair as if he was waiting for me to react.

His lips didn't touch my skin again.

"You're wrong," I whispered, trembling.

"I'm not," he said easily, I could feel him shaking his head. Then he was leaning back, his hand still pressing against my face, his eyes seeking mine. "Not about this."

I breathed out.

"I'm sorry I hid from you."

Edward smiled.

"I forgive you."

I blinked, surprised. "Just like that?"

His smile grew a little wider and he shrugged. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. I've _always_ known you," he told me simply. "You didn't do it to hurt me. You never have."

"How can you say that?" I asked him, incredulous.

"You react from fear, from pain, from doubt. From the _stupid_ idea you have in your head that you're not good enough for love," he said, his eyes blazing with an anger that wasn't directed at me, a passion that went beyond my presence in front of him. "Everything you've ever done has come from that one, single thought."

I nodded slowly, unsure.

Edward's fingers moved slowly back into my hair, twisting around stands and suddenly feeling the dried blood that I had forgotten to clean, the lump under my skin. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed slightly as he felt the wound with tender caresses, touching so soft and easy, causing no pain.

Then his hand returned to my jaw, the other reaching up to mirror it. My head between his hands, my pale neck soft beneath his palms, he looked straight at me.

"I'm so glad you're alright," he said sincerely, passionately. Then, he shook his head. "That's all. No pity, no fear, no tiptoes. I'm just…_glad_."

I smiled at him weakly and nodded.

His hands were warm on my neck, fingers pressing down lightly on the pulse, feeling the thrum beneath my skin. As if he was testing to make sure I was solid, reassuring himself that I wasn't hurt. I couldn't look away from him, even if I wanted to.

I didn't want to.

I wanted to fling my arms around him and thank him. I wanted to tell him that I trusted him, that I wanted to trust him always. I wanted to beg him not to leave me. I wanted to rip the divorce papers up into a thousand pieces and through them into the wind. I wanted him to know that I would never hurt him again, that I would never want to. I wanted to tell him that I knew what he meant now when he talked about love. I wanted to tell him that I loved _him_.

"What are you thinking?" Edward asked quietly, his head dipping down slightly so that we were eye to eye.

I shook my head, smiling sadly. "You don't want to know."

Edward's face was only a breath away from mine then, our eyes locked.

His hands were still holding my face, holding me captive as he drew near to me.

"Everything," he whispered against my lips.

Then he was kissing me.

It was so different.

_So, so different._

His mouth against mine - not demanding or searching, taking or needing - simply holding. My arms remained limp by my sides, unwilling to lift them, to put my hands on him. I wanted to feel him only in that one place where we were connected, with nothing to distract me from the feel of his mouth, memorized and fitted against my own. Small and chaste, but not tentative. Patient and both of us wanting.

His lips parted slightly and I felt his breath against me.

The soft of the air pushed my mouth from his and I dropped my head, his lips sliding and bumping gentle up to my nose, my eyes, my forehead.

Then my head was on his chest and my hands were fisted into his shirt, gripping him tightly and so afraid to look up at him. His chin was on the top of my head and his arms were around me. I pressed my face into him and my entire body against the entire length of his.

Into the skin of his neck I breathed, barely whispering. "I'm drowning."

His arms tightened and his lips brushed my hair.


	38. The Sister

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Sister**

"Looks like your ride's here, Bella."

I looked up from the register, holding the number of bills in my hand still in my head even through the distraction of hearing my name. Mike was walking in the front door, holding two heavy boxes of jam. He jerked his head to indicate that what he was referring to was behind him, waiting patiently in front of the store.

I allowed a small smile to creep across my face, knowing who I would find standing still and easy, leaning against a silver car.

"Thanks, Mike," I said with a nod, looking back down to the money I was holding, clutching tightly in my hand. "I'm just finishing up here."

Mike set the boxes down on the counter beside me and stepped around to the back.

"You go on, I'll do this," he said, plucking the money out of my hands with a grin. I opened my mouth in protest, but before I could say a word, he had snatched up the bills I had already counted, mixing the money together to start counting from the beginning.

My protests were cut short and my face fell, slightly dubious. "Are you sure?"

I couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt every time Mike offered help me with the job he was paying me to do. Even with a smile on his face and kind intentions in his heart, it didn't necessarily seem fair.

And I didn't want to be anything but fair to him, after all he had done for me.

Whenever I mentioned it to him, he would brush me off. He explained that he would already be doing everything himself if it wasn't for me. I could see him relying on me more and more – giving me shifts alone, assigning more challenging tasks – but that having me around hadn't changed how he felt about his work, his store.

He still cared, he still loved to run it.

I could see his face relaxing into counting the register, focusing with contentment.

I thought I could understand it.

"Of course," he said, with a predicable wave of dismissal. Then he looked over to me once more, his hands never halting as they slapped bills down to the counter with practiced speed and accuracy. His expression became mock-hard and exasperated. "_Go._"

My small smile turned into a full bright grin.

I turned to the side and reached under the counter, grabbing my bag quickly. I put my hand on Mike's shoulder as I moved past him, back around the counter. A silent gesture of gratitude which Mike took in stride without comment.

His smile mirrored my own, although his was accompanied with a slight roll of his eyes.

"See you tomorrow!" I called to him as I made my way over to the front door.

"Bye, Bella," he replied, attention already divided.

As I neared the door, I felt my happiness flicker slightly as a familiar anxiety crept upon me.

It was the same every day.

For the past week – ever since the day I had gone to the hospital, ever since the night Edward had kissed me – he had insisted on driving me to work every morning and picking me up every afternoon. That usually meant that he would stay the night in a room only a few doors down from my own. At first he had insisted he was staying because I was not to be left alone with a concussion. As the week went on, he had lost the excuse but had remained in the house.

_How's that for context?_

The past five days had been measured only by my nights aching and my mornings in his company, laughing and friendly.

It had been an easy adjustment, effortless and comforting.

Our words remained in the cold room, amidst respite and safety as we talked about poetry, our lives, ourselves. Our excitement lived outside with the horses as I watched Edward ride Dollar silently while I lay draped across Santana's back, learning how easy it was to trust him again in the stillness. Our comfort was found in the library, where Edward would play quietly on the piano for me or for himself. Our happiness was in the start of each day, spending it tentative scared but together.

Edward hadn't touched me since that first night. Not spooked, but slow. I never pushed him, never tried to force contact – not sure I wanted to. Not aggressive, but longing.

Yesterday, in the morning, I had burned our eggs and he had kissed my cheek when I had tried to apologize.

As I stepped out into the afternoon light, thinking of his lips brushing against my skin softly, reassuring, I allowed my eyes to search for him immediately. Expecting locked gazes and wide smiles.

Every day the silver car sat directly in front of the steps to the store, adorned by Edward's tall, lanky body leaning against the passenger side. His arms folded across a broad chest, his eyes attentive on me, ready to open my door as I stepped down to meet him.

There was no silver car.

I quickly scanned the area around me, thinking that perhaps he had parked in a different place. I walked down the steps slowly, thinking that perhaps he was late. Then my eyes turned to the vehicle waiting out front, thinking perhaps he had bought a new car.

Cherry red, shiny, and small.

I halted, unsure, and looked around one more time.

I heard a car door open and my eyes flicked forward once again at the sound.

I found myself face of face with Edward's beautiful blonde sister, leaning towards me, arms crossing on the roof of the bright red vehicle, looking at me expectantly.

"Bella," she greeted with a slight nod, her voice impassive.

"Rosalie."

I was frozen as I said her name, my eyes wide and my heart suddenly racing a pitter-patter beat against the walls of my chest.

The last time I had seen her had been the night Edward had slid divorce papers, reluctant unwanted, into my hands. She had been cold then, before curious and almost caring. Her revulsion had transformed, as I watched, to apathy and to what I suspected now was a mild interest. I had no idea the reason for the change in her, but it couldn't be denied that it was there in her demeanor, at her party and after.

Still, no matter what I told myself to attempt to remain calm, I couldn't seem to stem the rush of adrenaline, panic coursing through me. All I could think of was her anger, cold ice whenever she looked at me. I remembered when I had first come here, how I had thought she and Edward were so similar, their passion so consuming. So much fire, his with years of reason behind it and hers only looking on my face.

Then there was her hand on my arm as I clutched Edward's divorce in my fist like a life-preserver, her eyes flashing question, concern.

Kindness and lovely lips as she kissed her mother, looked at her husband.

So always, always expressive and she looked at me over her car and I had no idea what she was thinking.

Her face was entirely blank.

She could see me wavering, watching my stutter steps without surprise or interest, and she didn't smile or frown or scratch her head. Her mouth was a single straight line, her eyes were trained and without answers.

"Edward got stuck at work," Rosalie said at last, a small sigh in her voice. "He asked me to come pick you up."

I was momentarily taken aback by the normalcy of her answer, struck at once by the fact that I had been unconcerned about Edward's whereabouts, why he had not come.

"Oh. I…you shouldn't have…" I mumbled quietly, dropping my eyes and ringing my hands, teeth tugging on my bottom lip.

Rosalie shrugged, ignoring my awkwardness completely. "I don't mind. I've been meaning to come up here and talk to you anyway."

I blinked. "You have?"

Rosalie's impassive mask cracked for a moment as she smirked at my question.

There was no real humor in her expression, only a momentary amusement.

"Why don't you get in the car, Bella."

It wasn't a question.

"Oh…sure…I mean, of course," I started to answer, forcing my feet to carry me forward, my rushing slightly fumbled as I reached for the passenger door. Rosalie had already slid smoothly into her own seat by the time I tucked myself in beside her. I looked straight ahead as I continued nervously, my words pouring out a stream. "I'm sure you must have places you want to be. If I had known I would have driven my truck today but…"

"Hey, Bella," Rosalie cut me off as she turned the keys in the ignition.

"Yes?" I asked jerkily, on an inhale.

"Relax," she commanded. Then she turned to look directly at me. "Edward didn't know he wasn't going to be able to make it in time. He called my mom, I volunteered."

I exhaled.

"Oh."

Rosalie's smirk grew as she turned back to the road, pulling out and away from the store.

Then she said calmly, "Just ask me, Bella."

"Why?" I blurted out, before I could stop myself.

I expected Rosalie to laugh at the question, find entertainment in my shock. Instead she replied, "Like I said, I've been meaning to come talk to you."

That again.

I couldn't begin to guess.

I could only fear.

"About…anything in particular?"

Rosalie sighed at the question, her eyes flicking to me briefly, then back to the road. There was definite emotion in her face now, although I found it almost impossible to interperet what it was that troubled her.

"Alice likes you," she said curtly, at last.

There was a short pause.

I hadn't expected _that_.

"Alice…?" I began, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Emmett likes you," she continued - not allowing my question - as if she hadn't stopped. "My best friend and my husband like you. My mother likes you. My brother…" she hesitated.

I wished she wouldn't.

I wanted to hear her say it.

I wanted to hear anyone say it – anyone who knew us, who knew him and me.

I wanted to hear the words, out loud and for real that Edward still cared about me.

"I had my mind made up about you, Bella," Rosalie said after a beat. "Long before you got here, when I heard that you were coming, I had decided who you were and who you were going to be to me. Alice and Esme were determined to like you, determined to _love_ you. They were so ready to accept…and forgive. But me? I was going to be on my brother's side."

Her words were familiar, not anything I hadn't thought about her a million times. Preconceptions and expectations and judgment. I knew it, and yet every single word, every sideways glance she threw towards me as she said them, stung bitter against my skin.

"I suppose the most important thing was that I wanted to come to you and apologize." I heard her words, saw her beautiful mouth forming them, but they were the last I had expected to ever hear from her. "For my behavior towards you when you first moved here," she elaborated after a moment. "I barely knew you and it was…inexcusable."

My hands were clutching at my thighs, fingers digging into denim over skin, as I listened to her apology. I could feel the rigidity of my body, clenched up and unable to move as a million thoughts, a million memories poured in from around me, suffocating me.

At last, I said the only thing that could be heard over the din.

"No, it wasn't."

Rosalie turned to me quickly, her head whipping around, her hands steady and keeping the wheel straight, her eyes sharp.

"Bella, no one should ever treat you like dirt unless they have a _reason_."

I shrugged helplessly. "You did."

"Oh really?" Rosalie barked a humorless laugh, still music. "And what was that?"

"Edward…"

"My brother," Rosalie cut me off flatly. Then she shook her head, sighing once more. "Of course it's my nature to be protective of people I love. But from where I was standing, when you both arrived, _he_ wasn't the one who needed protecting."

The cold room and the starving and the silence, the anger and the hate and the solitude.

Everything he had put me through, every way he had admitted to torturing me and enjoying it, every day I had spent locked in a struggle to keep my sanity.

Edward's hard words and cold looks, his fire rage screaming and hurling me from the house.

His hands hard and gripping, bruising me with fear.

And it was still nothing compared to what had been done to him.

"I think you might be wrong about that," I whispered, my voice unable to pull any louder.

Rosalie was silent for a long moment, dragged out and exaggerated in the thick quiet of the car. I waited, eyes on my hands, hands on my lap, for her to speak.

At last, she turned to me.

"You really hate yourself, don't you?"

My eyes flicked up to hers immediately. She was watching me carefully, one eyebrow arched. She was questioning, unsure and graceful and certainly not smirking now.

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to argue about all the ways that my life had changed, about how much I had grown and how much I could see myself, see a person in me that I could love. I wanted to speak of confidence and courage, convince her that I was not the same girl she had first met, so long ago.

The words were not there.

There was only the truth now.

"I try not to," I told her, admitted quietly as I looked out the window and away from her. The highway stretching before us, telephone poles whipping past too quickly to see. "It's so hard to forget everything that I've done. Who I was before." I paused. Then, "And Edward says that no one ever really changes."

_You haven't changed, not one bit._

"I think you've misunderstood him." Rosalie's voice was very soft.

"It wouldn't be the first time," I said with an apologetic smile.

Rosalie's answering smile was sad, barely there.

A suspended quiet fell upon the car, humming engine and controlled breathing the only sounds to fill the space. Rosalie's presence at my side was loudest of all, every inch of her radiating strength and feeling, depth and wondering. I had never in my life known anyone quite like her, all my old friends – Jessica and Lauren – like watered-down versions of what a person could be. All their emotions were felt by degrees of moderation, all their actions guided by anyone but themselves. Until I had met Rosalie, I hadn't even known there was a difference.

Now she pierced into my life, at my side in the quiet, every inch of her attuned to me, to my words and my actions.

I watched the lines on the road until they faded to dirt nothing.

Sliding easily into the driveway.

We sat, quiet parked in front of the porch, looking at each other and back out at the house. I was unsure whether or not I should get out, thank Rosalie, and go inside the house without looking back. Everything dictated that to do so would be the next move, the plan in the game of niceties and society. Something kept me rooted in that seat, though. Some unspoken, tense and unbearable connection, waiting to be voiced. She wasn't done yet.

She hadn't said everything.

White paint shone brilliant and blinding in the sunlight, brand new shingled roof and all put back together home before our eyes. I felt a small stirring as I looked at it, a strange sense of pride warming from the inside and calming my racing pulse, putting an end to the tension.

With the house before us, put back and whole, I turned to face the silent blonde beside me.

"Rosalie, why are you here?" I asked her, sudden and needing to know.

Rosalie's eyebrows were raised slightly, speculative, as she met my gaze. With a small sigh she took both her hands from the steering wheel and turned her upper body, twisting in her seat so we were face to face. No distraction and no barrier.

"It would be a lie if I said it wasn't because I'm…_concerned_." She spoke the word with stress and significance.

"Concerned?"

"Like I said, I can be very protective of my brother," she elaborated quickly. "He's been spending all this time up here recently, Esme says he hardly ever comes home anymore." There was a small pause before she finished pointedly, "He's spending his nights in this house with you."

My eyes widened.

"It's not…"

"I'm not here to judge you," Rosalie insisted, holding up her hand to silence my shocked protest. "Or reprimand you. Or scare you off."

"You're not?" I asked slowly, hating how incredulous I sounded to my own ears.

"I may be a heartless bitch, but I'm not an idiot. I know when there are things going on that are beyond my control or understanding," she told me with the barest hint of a smile. As soon as I saw it, it faded into a frown, hardened with steel eyes to match. "I also know who's fault _that_ is."

My heart skipped a beat. "I'm not sure what you're saying," I hedged.

"Edward and I talk," she told me, as if it could explain everything. Her hands were folded on her lap gracefully, calmly, but her entire body was strained towards mine. Humming and fluttering with an emotion I couldn't read. "Not much, not for a long time. But occasionally, on the phone. And…whenever something big happened in his life." She hesitated, then added, "That usually had something to do with you."

"Oh," I breathed.

I couldn't see the purpose, couldn't see the end, but her words, her confession was captivating me.

Hearing her speak, commanding her interest, was electric. It was the same way I felt when I spoke to Edward, that absolute clarity in every syllable. Cryptic, vague as soon as it was passed…but so crystalline clear as she spoke.

"When you two moved here, I thought it would only bring us closer. I thought I could help him. And at first, it seemed like that meant helping him get rid of you," Rosalie admitted, not a single ounce of remorse in her face. She looked at me fiercely, daring me to defend myself.

I remained silent.

She continued, as I knew she would. "But he didn't _want _my help." Bitter words and sad eyes. "He shut me out. Although, not before making it clear that driving you away wasn't something he wanted."

"What _did_ he want?" I found myself whispering, pleading.

Rosalie studied me for a moment before shrugging, leaning back slightly, exhaling weary hours of endless theories that were the same as mine.

"If _you_ don't know the answer to that, then he's still the only one who does," she told me.

I took in her words, turning away at last. My eyes drifted out, past the house to the hills beyond, to the sun sinking lower and deeper and still so bright. My hair down around my shoulders making me sweat, fighting the urge to shiver.

"Listen, Bella, all I'm saying is…I'm here because I love my brother. And I want to understand. I know now that what he told me about you was only pieces, only parts of the picture. Otherwise there's no way you two would be…" Rosalie stopped.

I could hear in her voice that she was still looking at me, still watching me.

Suddenly, her voice got quiet, nervous when she said, "I want answers, Bella. I want to know what happened."

"What has he told you?" I asked, keeping my back to her.

"I thought…everything. Now I'm thinking that it was an abridged version."

I felt calm, as if I had known this moment had been coming all along.

There was no way to keep it from her anymore, there was no reason in the world why I should.

She was every inch Edward – her beauty and her anger and her desire and her desperation. She was one that I owed answers to, one that deserved to hear every word, from me, if only because she knew what to do with it.

And I still didn't.

"What do you want to know?" I sighed, braced for the fall.

Rosalie was quiet again.

Then, "Do you know why I hated you so much? After only meeting you twice, do you know why I wanted you gone?"

Slowly, carefully, I turned to look at her.

Just as I had known, she was still looking straight at me. Her gaze direct and without fault. I didn't need to shake my head, the easy tilt from side to side, for her to know that I couldn't answer her.

I didn't want to try.

"Come here," she said, a simple command that could not be contradicted.

Before I could reply, Rosalie was outside the car, closing her door, shutting me in. I opened my own in response, stepping out after her with barely a hesitation. I turned to look at her over the top of the car. Just as they had back at the store, our eyes locked over shiny blood red top.

Then she was moving: away from me, away from the car, towards the house.

I followed her around, past the porch into the backyard. The day was beautiful mild and temperate. Blonde hair bounced in flowing flicker waves down her back as she moved ahead of me, her stride quick and calm with purpose. My stagger step trailed behind her glide until we stood in front of the large, blackened tree.

_Edward's tree._

I stopped beside Rosalie, my shoulder reaching only halfway up her arm where we stood.

My eyes trailed up the tree, taking in the charred trunk piece by piece, moment by moment until I reached the crackbreak. My eyes locked on the large fissure, splitting the tree into two twisting, mangled arms. I felt my breath catch in my throat for a moment, in the silence and the vision.

_I felt nothing of this sadness before, this betrayal._

I remembered Edward's words, scrawled so quick and frightened in his journal.

I looked over to Rosalie, not sure what I was expecting to see.

She wasn't looking at the tree.

She wasn't looking at me anymore, either.

She was looking at the ground.

My eyes followed hers to a small stone pressed into the dirt and grass, surrounded by roots.

"What…?" I began to ask.

Then I saw.

I saw words etched into stone.

I leaned closer, narrowed my eyes against the light to make out the carved shadows. My entire body had grown cold, realizing that it was a grave that lay at the base of this shattered tree.

A monument to death.

_Jacob Anthony Cullen_

I jerked back, a horrified noise escaping my lips as I stumbled away slightly, my eyes still riveted onto stone; to the resting place of my son.

The place I had not even known existed.

"Edward," Rosalie said quietly, motioning to the stone. She was looking only at me now, at my reaction.

_He did this._

I felt the sudden, overwhelming flood of memories, years and years stuck behind a calm face and an impassive heart, and inch and a breath from breaking free. My eyes stung, dry sandpapery rather than tearful. Every inhale and exhale was shallow, quick, like I was afraid to breathe too deeply. I wanted to reach out, feel the cold against my hands, trace his name with my fingers, but I remained still. I forced myself to simply look at it; at him.

"You didn't come with him, so I thought…" Rosalie trailed off, her meaning clear.

Clear as I imagined a day I hadn't ever seen.

Edward standing beside a broken tree, hand clutching sister or mother instead of wife. Struggling to say words, to form a prayer, to keep his head above water as he placed the ashes of a child into the earth; as near to his home, to his love, as he possibly could.

"You thought right," I said coldly. My very bones were ice.

"No, I didn't, Bella," Rosalie protested, with a vehement shake of her head. I saw her reaching out for me long before I felt her fingers graze lightly, comfortingly, against my forearm. Hanging limp at my side. "I can see that now."

I shook my head. "You can't see anything."

Rosalie swallowed, I heard more than saw. She took a step towards me and light fingers turned into a bracing grip, so tender and so desperate. I could barely feel it.

"He buried his child alone and I thought it was because you couldn't be bothered…" She tried again, her words full of self-derision and self-castigation.

So, so painful.

"I _couldn't_ be bothered." I willed my words to sound harsh, to lash stinging blood against my own body. They came, instead, just as even and temperate as the rest.

"Bella…"

"I never held him in my arms." I spoke around her, forcing the words out for the first time, forcing the truth that she had so wanted.

I looked away from the grave finally, only to drop my eyes down to my arms. I bent at the elbows, holding them up. One still weighted down by Rosalie's steady hand. I looked at my own pale skin, the muscle and bone beneath and I couldn't imagine him there.

"I blamed you," Rosalie said quietly.

"I blame myself."

"Edward doesn't," she stated frankly. Sad and without agenda. "Even when he was so angry with you, even when he hated you, even when he blamed you for everything else that was wrong with his life, he never blamed you for _that_."

I felt a small, perverse smile threatening to steal across my features. Humorless, dank and dark as a cellar, but still a clown curl of the lips unable to be contained. The irony and the tragedy so striking hot against the chill.

"He's wrong," I told her, not an inch of me was afraid of her anymore.

"Tell me what happened, Bella."

She couldn't hurt me, couldn't touch me. There was nothing she could do to me that would rip through my entire body like the pain of ignored and festering wounds, no salt to pour. She was simply ears and eyes and heart and – inexplicably – on my side.

So I told her.

Images clear as the day they happened rose up before my eyes.

My left hand in Edward's left hand, my arm stretched across his entire body. I could feel his right at my back, wrapping around the largeness of my waist. The night was too beautiful, too warm for me to feel self-conscious. He was looking at me with too much adoration for me to feel anything but lovely attractive. Every playful comment I would make about my weight and he would whisper low and sincere against my neck and my hair how much he wanted me, how much he desired me, how torturous the waiting was before he could take me to our bed once more.

He sat me down, gently and with a kiss to the part of my hair, at the candlelit soft glow of a French restaurant table.

Edward's smile was brighter than the room as he sat across from me, still tanned brown from our week spent on our very own desert island. Paradise beginning rough and rocky harsh and ending in blissful passion. Insisting that we go out to dinner for our first night back on the mainland, eating gourmet and too pricey, to make up for all the hideous cooking we'd had to do ourselves.

Our fingers, palms stretched across the table, clasped and lying left of the flicker flame at the center. Edward ordered for me in flawless French and I watched him, fascinated, with my hand pressed to the violent kicking in my womb. I smirked and nodded my approval when he turned back from the waiter and he flushed slightly before eyeing my lingering hand.

There was a faint breeze of people passing us, flicking over my bare shoulders as the waiter led another party to a table.

I looked up only for a moment, but it was enough to shatter everything.

Jacob and Renesmee sat five tables to my right, their hands stretched across the table.

Her hand on her stomach.

The same as mine.

"She was pregnant," I said plainly, the word so foreign frightening on my tongue. "And they looked…so happy together. They didn't even see me. Jacob didn't see me. He was too caught up. In a way that I had never been with Edward, in a way I felt like I would never be again."

Even with Edward and my seemingly incandescent happiness, I had still seen Jacob the moment he had arrived. But _he _had never looked up, never looked away. He never saw me and I was always, always looking for him.

Jacob was happy and I was only pretending.

With a sigh, I continued, "I told Edward to give me the keys to the car."

"_Bella, honey, let me drive you home," Edward's voice was so soft, he was standing at my side now. _

_I had risen, terrified and electric shock the instant I had seen them, the instant I had realized that she carried Jacob within her as well. He had planted his seed in her because what was in me wasn't his. No matter how the child had started, it belonged to Edward now._

_The thought made me sick._

"_I don't want to…I just…" I stuttered, jerking myself away from my doting husband as quietly and quick subtle as I could, terrified that Jacob would look up and see me. He never did. And so I said plainly, tears tracking down my face as I started for the door, "I want to be alone."_

"_Hey, it'll be okay…" Edward began, starting after me, his hand falling on my shoulder to slow me down._

_I whipped around to face him at the door, my eyes flaming with anguish and anger and not a single ounce of that passion directed at him. He must have seen, must have known, because his words died on his lips and he simply looked at me. Stared. I could see the pleading, imploring behind his silent calm. The hopelessness he felt so obvious on his face._

_He had married a woman who didn't love him enough to stay, who loved another enough to leave._

"_Give me the keys," I demanded, my voice acid and impatient as I held out my hand._

_I felt the cold weight of metal in my palm almost immediately._

_Edward hadn't hesitated, hadn't blinked._

_Without a word, I walked out the door of that restaurant into the heavy warm Seattle night. The click of low, desperate scared running heels sounded against the sidewalk as I made my way to the car, listening for the strided shoes of a worried husband behind me. _

_I heard nothing._

_I never once wondered how he would get home._

Rosalie had released my arm and I was looking at her now. She had gone pale white as a ghost, her lips a tight, thin line without color. She was staring back at me, her eyes searching and darting around my face, the horror and understanding growing with every passing moment.

"The accident," she whispered. Those words, so quiet and harmless, now weighted with the knowledge of revelation. She said them with significance, as if she was relearning what they meant. Their definition, their place in the world suddenly shifting in her mind.

I nodded. "Right."

"Edward never talked about it. Not after that first night, when he called to tell us," Rosalie said, her voice one single shaky exhale of words. "I was the one who picked up the phone. He told me that you'd been upset, driving erratically, you hadn't seen the truck. I thought…we all assumed…you had been drinking."

I nodded, expecting it.

Along with her understanding came my own. The hate and resentment that had grown simply out of painful miscommunication. Edward's inability to talk about something so painful, wrongful conclusions left to marinate for years and years.

I didn't blame Rosalie, didn't blame the family.

They hadn't known me and I hadn't let them.

I felt a tentative smooth hand reach my own, fingers curling tight and trapping my own against a soft, hot palm. I looked down at Rosalie's hand as it covered mine completely and crushing. I felt strength and solidarity in the action.

I looked back up to her, slight wonder crossing my expression.

She didn't smile reassuringly, didn't nod comfortingly.

She simply looked back at me, steady and waiting.

Finally, after decades of silence, she finally asked the question we had both been waiting for.

"Do you…do you remember?"

"No...and yes."

_There were only bright lights, burning red and searing hot against the backs of my eyelids._

_There was only the murmur of voices, soft at first and muffled, growing steadily louder as I surfaced until I could hear them yelling, shouting with urgency their commands. Doctors telling nurses, nurses telling doctors._

_There were only words that I knew but didn't understand._

_There was only blood and car accident and baby and placental abruption and more blood and caesarian and more blood and hysterectomy. _

_Words, words, words._

_There was only a kind face, a woman looking down at me as my eyes adjusted to the light._

"_Isabella. Isabella, can you hear me?" She called to me from a great distance._

"_I…"_

"_Isabella, you've been in a car accident. Do you remember?"_

"_I…"_

"_Your baby is in distress, Isabella. We have to deliver now if we're going to save him."_

"_I…"_

"_Isabella, do you understand me?"_

"_Edward…"_

"_Edward? Who's Edward?"_

"_I…"_

"_We'll find him for you. We'll get him here."_

"They must have found his number in my phone. They called him. He was there when I woke up," I told Rosalie slowly, the murky memory of that horrifying day coming back with a jerky slowness, the same surreal dream state I had been in at the time. Under water and unable to break into clean air, gasping for breath and burning lungs as I tried to understand what that woman had been telling me. It still felt like it wasn't real. But it didn't matter, now or ever, what it felt like. It had happened just the same.

"He was the one who told me…he told me that the baby had died." My voice was so quiet now. Whispering two words I had never spoken before. "My son."

_I blinked at the pain, the sluggish eyelids heavy on my face, struggling to open. Everything was blurred and muted colors first, strange like looking through a filter. Moving my eyes – just my eyes – was excruciating._

_Everything was excruciating._

_As slowly, as smooth as I could, I lowered my head and eyes down to the warmth that was covering my left arm. The warmth of both Edward's hands, clutched tightly around my hand. His arms pressed up against the length of mine, our pulses matched up and beating boom together. His head was turned down, looking at my wrist or the bedspread, copper hair in my face and an entire body hunched in prayer._

_My fingers twitched against his._

_Green eyes immediately flashed up to my face, wide and terror hopeful._

"_Bella?" His tentative voice grew loud, his eyes filling and brimming. "Oh, God. Bella."_

_He stood up then, dropping my hand and moving his own to my face. Then his lips were on me, so gentle fast and urgent, covering my cheeks, my hair, my lips, my jaw, my neck. Every breath he took was expelled with a murmured curse, my name and 'fuck' escaping his lips in equal measure._

_His relief was so palpable, so present._

_I felt so empty._

"_How long…?" I managed through a scratchy throat, around his caresses and salt tears matting my hair._

_Edward pulled back reluctantly, his hands falling once more to my own, lifting it to his lips and then holding it, pressing it firm against his chest._

"_It's been almost two days," he told me, his voice betraying a certain weariness, weak and pained, muting his happiness at seeing me awake._

_I nodded once, but the motion was so painful against the throbbing of my skull, so I stopped. _

_I could feel the bruises, cuts and scrapes, broken bones. Each pain and ache coming to me slowly, one at a time, and remaining. Compounding. I felt them all as I looked at Edward, as he held my forearm up against his beating so fast heart. _

_With one deliberate move, my right hand jerked up from the bed where it was lying limp, cold, and unattended. Smooth and splinted my palm fell on my stomach, still and hollow._

_Edward saw the motion._

_His face crushed inward, immediate and cascading, all his love and happiness and relief gone in an instant. I had never seen anyone's face twist in such a way, until it was almost too tragic to be considered human. Looking at him in that moment, it was impossible to remember him happy, inconceivable that there had ever been a time where he had smiled. _

_Or laughed._

"_Bella…" he whispered my name, beseeching._

"_He's dead." My voice was calm, it wasn't a question._

_I didn't want to hear him try to answer it. I didn't want to force him to say the words._

_The last kindness, the last mercy I ever showed him._

_Instead of responding, Edward dropped my hand, his head with it. My palm pressed against the sheets, his lips against my knuckles, holding all his weight against me at that one point of contact._

_I breathed and didn't cry. _

"I couldn't talk to him after that," I said, my voice subdued, whispering as if I was back in that room, not wanting Edward to lift his head and look at me. Unable to bear looking at his face, his sad and weeping eyes. "The doctor came in and told me about the accident, about the abruption. That I had almost died, almost bled out on the table. He told me the only way they were able to stop the bleeding was…That I…that I wouldn't have any more children."

Tears were tracking quiet and beautiful down Rosalie's face. Both her hands were on me now, holding me up as I spoke. One on each shoulder, stretched across my back and pressed to my side.

She said nothing.

"They told me that I needed closure, that I could regret it horribly for the rest of my life. I didn't listen. I couldn't hear them. I just felt so, so empty. Like nothing, none of it could touch me," I confessed to her, feeling my own voice quiver and shake to get the words out.

I swallowed.

I felt like that still.

"I never saw him, Rosalie. I never saw his face. I never said goodbye."

I dropped from her arms as I dropped to my knees, my hands hitting the grass that blanketed the earth around his grave.

_Edward sat in the chair in the corner of the room, his face so blank, so calm. Completely devoid as he watched me._

_There was a kind woman, whose voice made me want to scream, or vomit. There were several doctors. They came in, a parade, one after the other and at last together, asking if I wanted to see my son. They could bring me to him, they could bring him to me. I should hold him, meet him._

_I should meet my little corpse._

_I was so calm, so level-headed when I refused._

_How could they argue?_

_Maybe if I had thrown something, raged around the room, ripped out my IV and threatened to walk out of the hospital, yelled and screamed and cried and begged, maybe then they would have known what to do. They would have known the passionate grief, the incomprehensible ache of a mother who had lost her child. Not a widow or an orphan, but a nameless griever, struggling with the most horrible of tragedies in the long, eternal list._

_Anger and denial and anguish they could understand._

_It was what they wanted._

_They didn't want a woman lying in bed, childless, with a silent husband, bruised and broken, telling them that she simply didn't see the point._

_Her choice._

_My choice._

I felt Rosalie standing over me, I could imagine the tremors in her body the same as if they were my own. And maybe they were. Every word was like extracting poison from a wound, hearing them aloud and admitting them to myself.

_Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth._

"It was easier to pretend it never happened, to act like I didn't care. I was so sure that letting it in would kill me." My hand reached out at last to connect with the stone. My fingers fell into the grove of the 'A'. It was so cold against my skin. "I'm still not sure it won't."

"It won't." Rosalie's response was almost immediate, surprising and strong.

I felt her lower herself to my side, not touching me but close enough that she could. Her gold hair curling in the breeze tangled gently, quietly with mine.

"Maybe…maybe what you did was…" she struggled. Then she shook her head. "There's no guidebook for how to act. No way you could know how to handle it. All you can do is move forward."

I dropped my head, chin to chest, wishing that I could believe her. Rosalie and her cutting blunt and honest words, a stalwart strong and even. Everything in her life so clear, so simple in her view, that forward wasn't something to be feared or avoided; it was all there was.

But I had tried that once.

Forward had changed my life, had shifted and moved me forever. It had made me different, forced me to grow. Moving on, putting one foot in front of the other, was the hardest thing I had ever done. It was a fight, a battle every step of the way. And in the end, everything I had done had not made anything better.

It had destroyed me.

It had destroyed Edward.

"_Edward?"_

"_Bella?" He was at my side in an instant, his hand gently cupping my arm._

_I wondered if he ever slept._

"_Will you do something for me?" I asked him, trying like hell to ignore the desperate, sad look in his eyes. The way he watched me, the way he waited so pathetically for some small word from me. Any indication that I remembered he was there, in my hospital room, every day and night._

"_Anything," he breathed eagerly, just as I knew he would._

_I looked at him firmly, lifting my chin. "Take me away."_

_I could see it had not been what he had expected._

"_What?" he asked politely, his brows furrowing, creasing his forehead in confusion._

"_Take me away from this place," I commanded him again, knowing that I didn't have to ask._

"_Bella, you're not being discharged until…"_

"_No," I snapped, cutting him off quickly, impatiently. "I mean, permanently. Let's move. Let's leave this all behind us."_

_I saw understanding cross his features, replaced almost immediately by trepidation. Fear. He was always so afraid. Of anything, of everything I said._

"_I don't know if that's such…"_

"_Edward, I want to get out of this place," I told him. The calm of my voice was wavering. I hope he couldn't hear the desperation. The undiluted need growing stronger inside me for him to agree. _

_He _had_ to agree._

"_But your school. My job. All our friends, your family…our lives…"_

"_Please, Edward. Please." I begged him suddenly, my voice bursting out louder than it had in days. "I can't be here. Please."_

_I heard my own words without really understanding their root. I only knew the gnawing ache inside, the panicked desire to run away, to cut loose, to be gone from rain and school and apartments with nurseries and French restaurants. _

"_I'll do anything you want," Edward said soothingly, his hands resting hot against my cheeks as he looked at me, willing me to be calm. He didn't want to see me beg. He could refuse me nothing. "Where do you want to go?"_

_My hands covered his and I exhaled._

"_New York, Edward. Take me to New York."_


	39. The Confessional

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Confessional  
**

The night fell without my notice or consent, in a silent haze.

There was a clock on the microwave, two little angry vertical eyes blinking back at me, watching and ticking away minutes one by one. Only one light was on in the house, and it burned harsh and painful above my head, sending sparks shimmering through the glass of the bottle in front of me. My hand lay beside it on the wood of the kitchen table, immobile and trying to desperately to be numb.

Rosalie had left at my insistence, driving away in her car with reluctance and frustration all over her pretty perfect face. She argued with futile insistence, but I was calm. I was rational when I told her I was alright, that I wanted to be alone. She wouldn't leave me outside, so I had come inside.

Walking through a swinging screen door was all it took to convince her that I was sane.

No one who walks into their house is ever about to crumble.

_Look how fine I am._

She never would have left me if I hadn't told her that Edward would be home soon. I said the word "home" like it meant nothing, like I said it all the time. Like our home was together. Just that throwaway sentence had her blinking and believing, getting in her car like she didn't want to intrude. It was only partly a lie.

Those little green numbers that held my gaze fixed told me that she had been gone for hours.

I needed her gone.

Gone so that I could let the fuzz and fizz have me as it always had; the same reaction in a different place. From the moment the amber liquid hit my lips I knew that I was fooling myself if I thought that there was any difference.

_You haven't changed, not one bit._

It stung just the same down my throat and dulled nothing of the ache inside. Just like before, it only allowed me to sit at the kitchen table, looking around sluggish and rambling thoughts, without crying.

Without breaking.

Without dying.

The nights after I had been released from the hospital were spent in exactly the same way, in a small apartment in Seattle. Gin was insecure happiness and memories. The gold bourbon I could taste bitter now was forgetting. All around me, Edward would pack up boxes upon boxes of clothes, junk, appliances, getting ready for our transcontinental pilgrimage.

Silent I would watch – unwilling to speak, unwilling to help, and unwilling to let him stop.

_Bella, are you sure you want to do this?_

His soft hands would touch my face, ignore the bottle, brush the bruises.

I would push him away, force a smile over blank eyes, and beg him please and with kisses to keep packing. Put it all in boxes. Tape it up and bury it inside a cardboard mountain.

My finger reached out and pressed against the warm glass of the bottle, smooth under my skin. I smiled slightly, without humor, as I thought of the boxes we had brought to _this_ house. Same terror and demons hidden within them, and more. They were all gone now, all open in this place.

And the final box, resting quiet and at peace beneath a broken tree.

The rest of my fingers slid around the bottle, up to clasp the neck, and I brought it to my lips. Fire burned all the way down into my chest, warming my entire body and making everything just a little dimmer, a little more blurred.

Everything was so deliciously skewed.

I placed the bottle down on the table, leaning back and listening to the chair crack and creak with every movement of my body, every defeated shift.

"Bella."

It wasn't a hazy sort of call, a muffled whisper from a distance. There was no slow glance and delayed reaction. The word, the syllables, were crystal clear and sharp deliberate. My eyes flicked immediately up, no need to search, and locked onto him standing just inside the kitchen door. I could feel the razor of sobriety flickering and fighting with the alcohol, his expression more effective than a bucket of ice cold water.

I knew immediately that he had spoken to Rosalie.

Maybe she had told him that she was going to talk to me before she even got here; maybe he knew and he had let her. Or maybe she had called him when she left; maybe they had crossed paths in the dark, leaving and coming.

It didn't much matter to me in that moment how he knew, only that he did.

There was concern that was immediate. Then nervous guilt and tentative hope as he realized I wasn't going to speak or rage or yell. Finally there was understanding…at the very moment his eyes fell on the bottle.

It was a realization on angled features, recognizing every single practiced stance.

The knowledge that came with such a recognition, the memory that tagged along so close behind: that if our marriage hadn't been doomed from the start, the weeks I spent in lethargy and whiskey had undoubtedly been the beginning of the end. Everything in me buzzed and had locked so hard that he would never be able to break down my defenses, our shared loss only strengthening a divide that I had fought to maintain. He had no strength in those weeks to connect, nothing to offer me.

I had ignored his pain and my own.

He had felt it both for us, too much.

And now we were in the same place, so many years later, and it was all so familiar.

The moment I had felt the crack open of emotions I sought to drown in forgetting.

The moment he had come to comfort me, to talk to me, he was forced to stand alone with whatever he felt.

Silence stretched out, a yawning abyss before us. I was blinking at him heavy, feeling regret and relief both that my entire world in that moment had been reduced to a dulled hum, incapable of thinking too deeply, feeling too much. My limbs felt lighter and heavier, my body and mind felt pleasant and calm.

I could wait here forever in the silence and inertia.

He moved forward.

I watched with only the slightest muffled tinge of trepidation as he slowly made his way into the room. The light crept brighter and brighter up his body until his face was illuminated as he stood beside the table, staring down at me. I felt a slight curiosity and anticipation as he breathed in and out, I saw his chest rise with each inhale and fall and I could imagine his heart beating a syncopated rhythm behind it.

I heard the scrape of the chair beside me first.

Then he was sitting next to me, his face close to mine, his arms on the table with a strange, forced ease. His expression had turned to a steel resolve that I didn't understand.

I leaned away from him slightly when he reached out his arm, only he wasn't reaching for me.

His hand closed around the bottle and he dragged it towards him, up to his mouth for a long swig in one swift, flawless motion.

It fell back down to the table with a dull, pointed thud.

His knuckles were white around its neck, choking.

"You want to go down?" he said at last, his eyes so, so sharp on me. "Fine. I'm coming too. Let's throw it all away. Every single moment, every tiny bit of progress we've made, our lives, our health…each other."

His voice was even and serious, not one inch sarcastic.

It wasn't a dare or a jibe.

He was looking at me, his eyes so green bright and stinging with only a tiny flicker of anger, and he was saying each word as far as he meant it.

"I can't stop you, Bella, but I can damn well join you."

I felt my mouth drop open slightly, unable to contain my surprise.

I knew all the words, all the motions so well. I had seen them time and time again back in Seattle. I had waited for them so calmly.

The look of disappointment and disapproval as he walked away, saying nothing.

The firm and pointed moment when he would place the cork directly in the bottle.

The way he would look me straight in the eye, challenging, as he poured the liquor down the sink.

The weeks had been filled with variations of each: never with any yelling, never doing anything to spark my anger, ignoring every word he could have said because he was just too damn tired to keep saying them.

This was new.

This was different.

This wasn't a game.

He looked at me, his hand still holding the bottle near his chest, waiting without giving an inch.

Destroying myself wouldn't work this time.

It had tortured him four years ago and he'd said nothing. He was calling me out now, and maybe it was too late, but for the silent expression he was giving me now he might as well have been screaming it from the top of his lungs; in protest.

I sucked in a breath to respond, to tell him I didn't care, to tell him he could do whatever he wanted, to tell him it was nothing to me, to tell him to leave, to tell him this wasn't what I wanted.

The alcohol muddled my brain and stoppered my words, forced every lie from me.

The lie that I wanted to be alone, that I wanted to deal with this on my own. The lie that I didn't want to be near him. The lie that I wasn't angry, upset about the grave in the backyard waiting for me after all this time, dragging memories up through the dirt that I had wished so desperately would remained buried. The lie that I was fine.

My breath escaped, loud and long, without the words that would drag us apart once more.

And with that single exhale I felt the unfamiliar release of the years; the knowledge that I didn't have to lie anymore, that I didn't have to hide any of it, and that with everything true inside me I still wouldn't have to fight for it alone. He wouldn't be disgusted, he wouldn't be horrified, he wouldn't run.

It wasn't until Edward stood suddenly from his seat – his entire tall body jerking up immediately with his eyes still locked on me – that I realized I was crying.

Thick, staining tears ran hot and heavy down my face, curling my jaw. I took quick, deep breaths, fighting against the jerking sobs that had started to rip from my throat. I could feel every inch of pain bubbling up to the surface, unfettered and unencumbered by expensive booze and faked apathy.

I allowed myself to think of that day, of all the days after.

Memories of how I hadn't been strong enough to protect him, even from myself, during the too short time when he was mine.

The unchanging fact that he and all his brothers and sisters had been lost in that one defining moment, because I couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Couldn't see a truck, couldn't see a stop sign, couldn't see any life in front of me that would ever be as good as the one that had been snatched from me.

I felt sudden, violent hands gripping around the top of my arms and I was being jerked and pulled forward, dragged up from my chair. Edward was lifting me, my entire body limp and shaking and suddenly I was crying out, the keening and wailing of a wounded animal, of a forlorn mother. I barely recognized the sounds coming from my chest as my own as I batted Edward away, weak and desperate. Inconsolable and gasping for breath.

Edward ignored my protests and I felt his arms go around me, lifting me up around my back and behind my knees like a child. Like a bride.

I flung my arms up around his neck instinctively, my head tipping back as I cried out before I rolled it, defeated, onto his shoulder. I felt him whisper something against my hair, then press a soft kiss where he left his secret words too quiet for anyone but himself.

I don't know how long we stood down in that kitchen before he began walking.

It could have been seconds or hours.

But then he was carrying me up the stairs, my right arm clinging around his shoulder and neck still, while my left arm slipped down slightly, fisting into his shirt, holding so tight my knuckles cracked. The entire house pitch black now as we left the bright of the kitchen behind, not a single light burning in any other room. Still, Edward navigated through the dark without hesitating, familiar with each step, eyes adjusted and wide open.

I knew where we were going before I felt him sit down onto the bed with a sigh and a creak, his heavy steps silencing and him arms tightening around me so slight.

We were in the cold room, in our sanctuary, the place we had built together.

I knew, without seeing, my book of poetry waited calmly and silent on the stand beside us. I buried my face further into his chest, as if I thought I could burrow my way inside, set up a safe haven under his skin and inside the beating of his heart at my ear.

I felt him shushing me gently, rocking me in his lap, one of his hands reaching up to stroke at my hair. His fingers were nothing but warm comfort on me, pressing the ache from my mind and forcing me to take breath after breath.

"I didn't…I never…" I stuttered against him, not knowing what I was trying to say. The words came out staggering against waves of tears, whispered and unsure.

And then I knew.

I knew what I wanted to say to him. The only thing I wanted him to know. Beyond explanation and confession, there was only one thing that was important that he hear. One thing I could give him, and myself.

_The truth._

The words rushed out of me so easy, waiting to say them for four years.

"I want my baby, Edward."

Edward's arms tightened around me and I felt his own breath hitch and jerk against my body.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice no stronger than mine. Deep and filled with so much regret that I thought I would crack. The fissure inside me spider-webbing out in all directions.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled desperately. "I'm so, so sorry."

The mantra sounded again and again, the words spilling from my cracked lips, tasting the tears as they fell around each apology. Quieter and louder and wailing against the bone and flesh of his body. His embrace grew strong around me and my fists beat against his sides hard enough to bruise. His arms softened when I did, my words falling fainter and desperate. He rocked me and cradled me, his hands finding my face to wipe away tears from my chapped skin when my sobs started up fresh and violent, only to wane and flair over and over.

_I'm so sorry._

_I'm sorry. _

_Sorry sorry sorry._

Every time I said the word I felt more and more that this was the only true apology I had ever given him, the only time a word had ever meant so much to me.

And I wondered if it would ever mean anything to him.

Hopelessness and impotence surrounded me, choking back my whispered and yelled regrets until they were nothing but movement of lips against his chest, the soaking fabric of his shirt cool against my cheeks and my chin.

_Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa._

My eyes closed, lashes sticky and warm, until all I could see was black and all I could hear was Edward's breathing and my own lips moving over cotton without any sound, wishing with everything I had that I could make him believe me.

It felt like mere seconds had passed when I opened my eyes again, but I knew almost immediately that I had been asleep for a long time.

My face was dry and salty uncomfortable, my body was stretched out over the covers of the bed.

It was still dark.

I sat up slowly, my hand reaching up instinctively to brush against my gritty cheeks, wiping away strands of hair that were matted and pressed against my skin.

"Are you alright?" I heard his voice, quiet in the darkness.

He was sitting in a chair next to the foot of the bed, one that looked as though it had been dragged up from the kitchen. I couldn't see his face perfectly in the black, but I could make out enough to know that his eyes were staring directly into my face, searching as well as they were able in the night. I waited for tension, nervousness, unease to come. There was only quiet calm, the easiness of him body so near to mine.

I considered his question.

"No," I said at last.

Edward was silent for a moment.

Then I saw the shadow of his body grow, heard him stand from his chair beside me and move forward. Instinctively I moved back, allowing him room as he sat down on the bed beside me. We sat, facing each other, our legs crisscrossed on the bed, our knees just barely touching. His eyes looked dark as opal.

"Rosalie told me she was going to come talk to you today," he told me quietly. "I didn't know what about…I didn't think you…"

There was a pause.

"Didn't think I what?"

I wanted so badly to see his face, but I couldn't reach over to the lamp and turn the switch. I was too scared to face him in the light, where it would be so much harder to hide. Everything felt less real in the dark, and at the same time it was more real than anything I had ever experienced before. Every word, every breath and sound so much louder. Everything as honest as passing the screen window of a confessional, just barely glimpsing the man you know is on the other side. He couldn't hear me, and no one would ever hear me as clearly ever again.

Edward shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't think you would talk to her."

I almost laughed aloud, a small smile reaching the corners of my mouth.

Rosalie was not someone who was easy, not someone who was comfortable. Not unless _you_ were comfortable with who you were and what you had done. Talking to her was like looking into a mirror. I didn't like what I had seen, but once I had decided to look…as painful as it had been, it was easier than breathing.

No holding your silent secrets from her, from your own reflection.

"When I got home from work, she was there," Edward continued when I didn't reply. "She had been crying. She told me…she told me where she took you, what you told her." His voice weakened a little as he stuttered out the last sentence.

I could hear him swallowing, I could imagine his jaw clenching and his eyes flashing.

But all I could see was shadow.

I wanted to reach out and touch him. Put my hand on his hand. Something held me back, though. Something kept me motionless. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was fear, or maybe it was just the darkness.

No matter what you confess, you can't reach out and touch the man behind the screen.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

I shivered at his apology, imagining how different the night would have been if Edward had come when I was still outside. What I would have done if I had seen him at the grave, father and son together where they had said their goodbyes years ago without me. Without my knowledge and without my interest. The image ripped through me, causing every muscle in my body to clench up.

"I'm sorry, too," I replied, forcing the words from my lips, once more feeling their impotence. "For…"

I shook my head.

There was too much.

There weren't enough hours in the night or the day or the rest of our lives.

_Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa._

I leaned back, shifting slightly so that my back was pressed up against the wall. The cold of the plaster and paint immediately penetrated through the light cotton of my shirt, soothing against my skin. I tucked my legs up to my chest then, wrapping my arms around my knees and holding them tight against me. I could feel Edward watching the movement.

A quiet moment passed and I could hear Edward's steady inhale and exhale.

"I had no idea, Bella," he said at last, his voice filled with an unbearable remorse.

"No idea?" I asked, tentative confused.

"I didn't know that…" He looked down to his lap, then back up at me, his voice wavering very slightly. "I didn't know that…you were still struggling with it."

"With what?" I asked him quietly, knowing what his answer would be.

I still needed to hear him say it.

He hesitated for only a moment before he replied, his voice forced calm and steady, "Jacob's death."

The shock was sharp and quick, hearing the words spoken aloud; hearing Edward voice them for the first time in years; calling his son by that name.

The wrong name.

I swallowed and tried to speak several times before I managed, weak but curious, "You don't?"

I heard Edward sigh. "On the bad days."

I knew what that meant.

Edward had mourned his son. Edward had been heartbroken and held his dead body and buried his ashes in the earth under that tree; the tree that taught him grief and betrayal. Edward had felt anger and sadness, he had wept and bargained and prayed. Edward had learned a long time ago how to accept his son's death.

He had left me behind.

As if he could sense what I was thinking, Edward leaned forward, turning his body around so he was leaning against the wall beside me, our arms touching lightly. A contact that left me feeling a little less alone. A little less afraid.

"You named him Jacob," I said quietly, subdued, after several moments had passed.

"You wanted it that way." His voice gave me nothing.

I looked down to the tops of my knees, two dark peaks in the black of the room. I answered him with a shake of my head I wasn't sure he would see and a whisper I wasn't sure he would hear. "Not anymore."

He heard me.

"It's just a name, Bella," he said so simply that for a moment I almost believed him.

"Is it?" I asked him, turning to face him. He was already looking at me, our faces so close in the dark, our noses almost touching. "It wasn't just a name for me. I can't imagine it was just a name for you."

Edward was silent for a moment.

"No," he said, his voice a little harder. "You're right."

_No more pretending._

I nodded and turned away then, unable to look at him for even a second longer. The man who had tried to give me everything, the man who I had tried to take everything from. His love, his home, his family, his son. He gave all of it to me, everything he had, and I spent every waking moment telling him that it would never be enough. It would never amount to anything.

I clutched my legs closer to my body, leaning away from Edward slightly.

He noticed.

"What are you thinking?" he asked gently, his breath warm against my cheek as he took back the space I had tried to put between us.

I shook my head, my eyes burning.

No tears left to cry.

"This all should have happened so long ago," I told him, my voice cracking. "But there's nothing…I never…I…"

My voice died in my throat and I leaned my forehead against my legs in defeat, unwilling to meet his questioning gaze.

He was quiet again.

Then, "You were always so calm about it," he told me, his words a painful wondering. "I knew you had to be sad, depressed when it first happened. I watched you shut down and I knew that apathy like that didn't come from not caring. Still, I thought…" He trailed off for a moment, then sighed and continued. "I thought you must have…dealt with it. At some point. On your own. Made your peace somehow."

I heard the words he didn't say, the words he must surely be thinking.

_You must have dealt with it. At some point. On your own. Made your peace somehow._

_How else could you live? _

_How could you smile every day afterwards if you hadn't put it all behind you? _

_How could you walk in the world with something bottled that deeply inside you? _

_How could you let me go through this alone?_

"I'm so sorry." My apology rushed out, sudden and still so, so futile. I couldn't stop the words from coming, though, mumbling them into my thighs and loud enough for him to hear. I might have been yelling them. "I'm sorry I forced you to do this by yourself. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"I wasn't there for you either," Edward said quietly.

My head jerked up at that, scowl and frustration transforming my face. I didn't even wonder if he could see it in the dark. It didn't matter. It was clear in the words I spat at him, the words I was really spitting at myself. Always loathing, always my fault.

_Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa._

_My fault. My fault. My own most grievous fault.  
_

"I didn't want you. I didn't want anyone," I snapped at him. "But you…"

I couldn't finish the sentence.

I wanted to rip my hair out.

Then, suddenly, Edward's body was twisting towards mine. His left should braced him against the wall as he faced me full on. I could see his brows furrowed and I knew it was with concern. Like an electric shock I felt his right hand reach across his body and grab hold of my hip. Steadying me.

"It was hard, Bella. It was." His voice was firm, so soft. "But it was…different for me. I think."

My lips mashed together for a moment, tightening in a thin line against emotion and the feeling of his hand on me.

"Different?"

"I don't mean it wasn't hard…shattering," he allowed, his voice dropping for a moment. "But I had…"

I waited for him to continue.

He didn't.

He was looking away from me.

"What?" I whispered, desperate to know. "What did you have, Edward?"

He turned back to look at me slowly. I felt his fingers flex against me slightly, tightening over bone and skin of my hip.

"When I got that phone call, when I saw you lying there on that table and they told me you might…" he said at last, his voice shaking now. He spoke in fragmented sentences, more fractured than I had ever heard before. "And when you woke up…you were in pain, you had lost your child and you were broken and absent and I…"

"You what?"

"I was fucking _happy_," he snapped suddenly. His hand was gone, his body turning away from me, his shoulder blades slamming back against the wall, fingers twisting suddenly and painfully through his hair. "I felt so guilty, but I..." he swallowed, then he glanced back over at me, his voice dropping to a whisper and so pleading. "I thought I was going to lose you both that day."

His eyes were sparking in the darkness, unshed tears glistening with his admission.

I stared at him, speechless numb for several moments.

Then, without thinking, I reached up and wrapped my fingers around his hand fisted into his hair. Slowly, I drew it back down. I felt his entire body relax slightly at my touch, at my silent acceptance, and he allowed me to lower his hand gently to the blanket as his side. I released it reluctantly.

Edward sighed, his voice quieter now. "I just knew that if I fixated on losing Jacob…or the hysterectomy…or everything we lost…I knew I'd ruin everything."

"But you didn't," I told him, smiling small and regretful. "I did that all on my own."

Edward shook his head. "Don't do that, Bella."

"Just let me…"

"No." His voice was insistent, stubborn.

"Why not?" I demanded. "Why do you always keep me from feeling this?"

"You've felt enough guilt for one lifetime."

"You've always done this," I told him, drawing away again slightly but still facing him. "You've always sheltered me from this. You said yourself that you had to force yourself not to feel pain…just for me. That's not…" I stumbled searching for the word.

"Not what?" Edward pushed.

I knew what he wanted me to say.

That's not what a husband should do for his wife. That's not what a man should do for his love. That's not what people should do to be healthy, to move on, to live their life, to feel their grief. Anything I would say, I knew he would simply refute.

None of the old arguments could possibly work.

Edward had always been far, far too selfless.

As selfish as I had been, Edward's altruism had been just as detrimental to our relationship. In the way that my own flaw had left me blind to anyone but myself, his had left him blind to only himself. He had been consumed with me, with my needs, with everyone else.

And then I knew.

"It never seemed fair," I told him aloud, firmly.

"Fair?" I could hear his confusion.

"Keeping you," I said with a slight tremor. "I'm not trying to say that it was the reason I was so horrible to you, I wasn't doing it to get you to leave me. Not consciously. But on some level back then…and now…"

I paused, unsure.

"Tell me," Edward urged, his voice strange.

"All you had to do was walk away from some woman who didn't love you," I told him plainly, as calmly as I could. My voice didn't waver once, it was strong and confident and forcing him to hear, forcing him to remember himself. "You could have had it all – married some beautiful, kind woman; stayed in Seattle where you were happy; had three kids. You…"

I stopped. My voice, my words failed me. I could feel the tears – tears that I had thought were gone – begin to well up once more as I heard my own words echoing in my head, knowing the truth in them; feeling the sense in my bones.

So, so scared that he could feel the sense in them, too.

I watched Edward's head shake slightly in the dark, in his disbelief.

Only there was nothing he could disbelieve.

_No more pretending._

I stared right back at him, forcing myself to watch my words sink in.

"Maybe I could have," Edward said at last. "Maybe I could have gotten over the loss of my son and had another. Maybe I could have left the woman I had just married for someone else. Maybe…_if I had wanted to_."

"So what did you want?" I shot back at him, my face hardening slightly. "A barren, egocentric, college drop-out who was destroying your life a little at a time?"

My words rang in the air, louder than I had intended.

Edward looked taken aback for a moment.

Then his entire face softened, I could see even through the night. He reached up and brushed his thumb along my right cheek, gathering up the salt of fresh tears for a moment. Then he pulled away, as if unsure whether or not he should have touched me.

I saw his head tilt slightly, tenderly. "Is that how you see yourself?"

I swallowed. "On the bad days."

Edward nodded slowly.

Then, "It was my choice to make. I chose you, Bella."

I shook my head, frustrated.

"But can't you see why? Can't you see why you stayed then? Why you're staying now?" I demanded of him, my voice more subdued even as I spoke quickly and desperately. "You're a good man who felt…_feels_…responsible. Who wants to save me."

My breath was hard in my chest, tears making fresh tracks down my skin.

Edward listened to me quietly, his expression not changing.

"Can I?" he asked me after a moment.

"Can you what?"

"Save you?"

"No."

"Do you want me to?"

I hesitated.

Then, "No."

Edward smiled.


	40. The Date

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Date**

I could feel the change in the air.

The wind brushed against my bare legs, tickling skin and tossing hair around my face, neck, shoulders. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and so cool. I sensed the ending of summer approaching, fast and unrelenting, the darkness creeping a minute at a time into days that had been so delicious long. August was fading, winding down, its heat slowly being overtaken by the chill of September autumn. My hand clutching at smooth blackened bark, I closed my eyes for a moment and wished for time to stop.

Summer had been so new, had been so full of discovery and wonder and exploration. It was a summer like that of a child, perfectly filled to the brim with possibility. I could remember feeling like that only when I was young, when Jacob and I had been best friends spending all our time at beaches and in treehouses and wandering the moss and wet forests of the Pacific Northwest. When we had just started getting to know each other, before we understood our feelings or our bodies, when all that mattered was whatever was happening at the exact moment it happened. Present and full of life.

I had never loved summer in high school, when the restlessness had begun to take hold of me. I had never loved summer in college, waiting for Jacob to follow me. I had never loved summer in New York, searching desperately for anything to distract me.

I had loved this summer.

I opened my eyes again and looked out towards the open fields before me, grass long and browning under the sun, waves rolling against the breeze. Solitary boulders, solitary trees littering the flat land in one place, in another place, and another. My right arm was wrapped around the trunk of the blackened tree. Edward's tree. My shoulder pressed into its bark, steadying me as I watched the land and the sky and the mountains so far away. I breathed deep the air around me, my heart beating a slow steady rhythm in my chest as I stood beside the stone that marked my son's grave. A reminder of all the pain I had suffered, and the land around me the proof that it had all been worth it.

"Bella?" Edward's voice called gently, behind me.

I smiled without moving, wondering if he was early or if time had simply passed quicker in the presence of everything so dearly loved.

In the house, everything had been slow and suffocated: standing, my ear pressed to the phone as Edward suggested we go out to eat in the city; washing the dirt and grime of the day off me, water pounding down from the showerhead onto my skin in torrents; running through every dress in my closet to find the very right one; flitting back and forth in the room unable to settle; butterfly jitters so nervous bubbling in my stomach, in my chest.

Until my eyes fell on the book.

The book Edward wrote for me, the book he finally told me I deserved to have, the book with every measure of every poem beloved and synchronized beautifully and horribly with everything in my life.

Our life together.

Heartbreaking words and intolerable feeling and love so strong and so weak it was impossible to bear. I picked up the book, I sat down and read a poem, two poems and suddenly I was calm. No more nerves, no more wondering. There was love deep and immeasurable screaming out from each page, so easy to believe it was irreversible. I felt the doubts I had as irrelevant pieces, so mundane next to all we had been through.

I finally turned into my name, my eyes taking him in for the first time in almost a week.

Suit black and clean, hanging on him long legged and perfectly straight. The line of it matched the line of his jaw, freshly shaven and white ivory strong. I met his eyes and watched him take me in, my hand lingering for a moment more on the tree before I took a step towards him, then another.

I walked to him as he remained motionless, his eyes fixed on me and burning my skin, the weight of being watched hanging on every step I took. His face was unreadable and unblinking. The light tulle skirt felt childish and beautiful as it brushed my knees in the rhythm of my steps, contrasting sharply against the fitted material around my waist and shoulders. My arms were completely bare, so white against the dramatic black of the dress. I felt like a bride walking to the alter, like a sacrifice walking to the pyre. Made stronger, made confident by the way his eyes followed my every movement.

I stopped in front of him, only a foot of empty space separating us. I felt it as infinity and as nothing. I resisted the sudden urge to turn my palms towards him, to throw my shoulders back and my face upward as an offering. I waited instead, gritting my teeth to hold his gaze.

"You look very nice," he said after a moment, his voice soft and his eyes gentle appreciative.

"Thank you," I responded, the words coming out easily. "So do you."

I allowed my eyes to travel his body once more, all black and white and copper hair getting tossed mercilessly in the warm wind surrounding us.

Edward held out his arm to me with a small smile.

"Shall we?" he invited.

I slipped my hand onto his arm, my bare skin pressing against the fabric of his jacket as he turned. Silently, his eyes finally pulling away, he led me to his silver car glinting reds and golds in the fading sun. As we headed away from the ranch house, I felt the fluttering that had so incapacitated me earlier begin to return. Edward was silent beside me, his expression calm every time I turned to glance at him.

Flying forward down the road, the sunset splashing color dramatically across the evening sky, I felt the excited anticipation of the unknown. I felt hope and possibility in every single moment, only enunciated by the overwhelming tension that stretched between us. In the silence we could be anything, we were anything, and our lives could be whatever we imagined them to be. All of it hurtling towards us, rolling beneath us like asphalt.

As the car slowed, reality dawned on me slowly and without permission.

No longer could I live my life as I imagined it, not when we pulled up to one of the nicest restaurants in Colorado Springs. Dim lights shone from large windows out at the car and I could see the silver and crystal from within. Everything so beautiful and so perfect.

And I had no idea what any of it meant.

"Bella?" I heard Edward's voice, curious.

I looked over at him, his hand on the handle of his door, leaning towards me slightly with his eyebrows raised.

"Why are we doing this?" I asked him suddenly, needing to know.

Edward blinked for a moment before repeating, slightly puzzled, "Why?"

"I mean, why are you…?" I paused and exhaled. Then, motioning to the restaurant. "What _is_ this?"

Edward sank back into his seat, releasing the door as he smirked at me. "This is dinner."

"Edward," I said flatly, firmly.

He sighed, not unkindly.

"I know what you're asking. I know what you want to know," he told me, appearing bemused. "Is this a date? Is this heading somewhere? Is this romantic? Are we friends?" He listed off every question in my head, as if he had always known what they were and there had never been any reason that they should be secret from him. He had thought of them all, too. Then, he added gently, "After everything, are any of those questions even relevant?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "I wish they weren't."

Edward's answering smile was indulgent.

"We've been married for almost five years," he began. "We've lived with each other. We've slept together enough that I have a fairly intimate knowledge of every inch of your body. We've seen each other tired and sad and sick. We've broken each other into a million pieces and now we're trying to fix it, in whatever way we can."

I was flushed bright red and listening raptly.

"So we can call it that…" Edward's smirk returned. "Or we can call it dinner."

I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Alright," I agreed.

We made our way into the restaurant without another word, every inch of me feeling lighter than it had in a long time under the sudden and overwhelming honesty that had been placed before me. No more illusions. Whatever happened tonight, it wasn't a fantasy and it wasn't a game. Everything with Edward was sharply, painfully, and undeniably _real_.

We were seated immediately and with great attention by the host, offering menus and cocktails.

We both ordered gin and tonic.

As we glanced over the entrees, Edward finally spoke again.

"So, how have you been?" he asked me quietly.

I wanted to dismiss the pleasantry, feeling as thought I should be disenchanted with small talk.

I would have, if not for his expression.

The last time we had seen each other, he had held me in his arms as I cried the night through over our lost son. Remembering that night as my best and my worst was difficult, but I knew that we were no longer at a place where we could ever be allowed to ignore the truth of it again.

His question wasn't a polite one.

He wanted to know.

I answered honestly, "Better."

"I would have liked to see you sooner," he remarked, without agenda.

"It's only been a week," I said with a small shrug. Then, "I'm sorry, I just needed a little time."

Edward took a sip of his drink. "Don't apologize."

He was serious now and it felt like a demand.

I smiled, crooked. "Reflex."

His smile was weighted down, but still bright.

When the waiter returned, Edward ordered the filet. I ordered the fluke.

For several minutes we were quiet. I watched him take a drink from his glass, I watched his hands unfold his napkin gently, I watched him spread butter over his bread. I mirrored every one of his movements, unwilling or unable to break the silence.

We spoke briefly of the food we had just ordered.

We talked for a little about the wine we would have with our meal.

Every rush of words was short and punctuated by quiet.

Every time we tried to speak, only the tiny things would come out.

Disenchanted small talk.

"This is strange," I said at last, with a small laugh.

Edward's eyes flicked up to mine. "What is?"

"This," I explained, motioning between us. Calling attention to the strange turn of the past twenty minutes. "It's like, if we're not fighting or not yelling or not crying…we have nothing to say to each other."

Edward leaned back, considering me for a moment.

"That's not true," he stated at last, sounding sure.

"Really?" I challenged, brows rising. "Well, then what do you want to talk about?"

Edward studied me for a moment before I saw a spark come into his expression. A tiny smile that he couldn't seem to control, an excited glint, and then he was leaning forward with his eyes locked on mine, his glass placed back on the table.

"I brought a man back to life the other day," he said simply and bursting.

I could see the happy dare in his face.

I took the dare.

"Excuse me?" I begged him to repeat, my eyes widening in incredulity, thinking that I must have misunderstood.

"A man came into the clinic, already dead," he elaborated, an excited lilt to his tone. "But it was cold outside, he had been in the water, and they always tell you in medical school that you're 'not dead until you're warm and dead'. The surgeon cracked open his chest and I massaged his heart for two hours while they warmed him up."

He paused as I gaped at him.

"He came back, Bella," he said quietly.

I was speechless, motionless as he studied me.

I couldn't imagine anything like that ever happening to me. Or to anyone. Edward's life suddenly seemed so distant from my own, so large and incredible, that for a moment I couldn't even remember why I was sitting across from him.

I found myself looking at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table. I wanted to ask him which one it was. Which one did he use? Which one brought a man back to life? Which one squeezed and a pressed and convinced a man's heart that he deserved to go on living?

"Edward, that's…" I croaked out a whisper.

He nodded. "I know."

Silence descended on the table again as our waiter arrived with the entrees. Steaming small portions were set before us, artfully arranged and beautiful colors. I smiled ruefully, thinking of my own amateur cooking. How proud I was of every meal I made.

I could never make something so beautiful and delicate as the food that was resting before me.

I could never give a man a second chance at life.

"What day was that?" I asked Edward after a moment, thoughtfully.

He looked up at me from his meal, understanding immediately what I was talking about.

"Wednesday."

I sat back in my chair, recalling a memory.

"I helped Mike unload boxes in the store room on Wednesday," I told him.

Edward's fork stopped moving and he placed it softly on the table beside his plate. His eyes rose to meet mine, flaring with something unexpected.

Something almost dangerous.

"Why do you do that?" he snapped, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

I was startled for a moment.

Then I shrugged, helplessly. "I can't not do it."

"Bella." He said my name as a single scolding sentence. A statement of annoyance and disappointment and indignation.

"When I was unloading boxes in the store room, we were talking and Mike asked me what I had studied in school," I told Edward suddenly. "I recited the poem for him. I still know so many of them by heart."

I didn't know what made me say it, why I wanted to tell him that, why I thought it would change the way he was looking at me.

But it did.

Edward leaned forward slightly, a small smile crossing his features, his eyes softening immediately.

He saw me try, every time, to think of my life as being worth something.

I couldn't understand why it was so hard for me, and so easy for him.

"I don't think you'll ever forget them," Edward supplied, always generous.

"I will," I disagreed sadly. "Eventually."

He studied me for a moment more.

Then, "You've always had such a talent for words. Even when we barely spoke, I knew. You could say only a few sentences to me and it was enough to make me love you."

"Or hate me."

Another spark, hotter and brighter, crossed his features.

"Does it look like I hate you?" he demanded, holding his arms out as if to gesture to himself, our words, this place.

_Look at everything else, all the proof around you._

"You should," I insisted.

"And why should I do that?"

I couldn't begin to count the reasons.

The lying and cheating, the anger and the apathy. Every moment from our history was stuck in my mind like a Greek tragedy. Jacob my lover and Jacob our son. Nessie my enemy and Nessie Edward's little sister. My father and his. His mother and mine. Washington and New York and Colorado. So many, so large, and of course he knew them all by heart, same as I did. The question was his way of telling me that there was nothing I had done that had earned his hate, not forever. There was nothing unforgivable, there was nothing wrong.

But some part of him, I thought, wanted to know which reason I would come up with.

_Tell me, Bella, which is the worst of your sins?_

My answer surprised both of us.

"Because I spent our entire wedding day pretending so hard that I was in love with you. And convincing everyone else there – my father, your family, _you_ – to play along."

His face was unreadable in that moment, as he considered what I had offered him.

A person can pin their hopes on anything, any tiny idea or little inkling, but Edward had chosen something larger than marriage. He had decided to pin everything on me; on his love for me, on his love for our child. There was no reason, I had offered him no assurance, and he married me so blindly, so beautifully anyway. The thinner the justification, the more desperate the motivation, the tighter he would be forced to hold onto it. Just to assure himself it was all real.

The most inconsequential things in life will always be the most important, especially when you have no hope.

The farce of the marriage was always more his than mine, and I had not only let him battle through it that day alone, but I had forced him into it. Dared him to marry me to prove his love, dared him to try and make me happy even as I tried to kill him.

Winner takes all.

That wedding was the most despicable thing I had ever done in my life.

Edward nodded slowly, a sad smile touching the corners of his lips.

There was an understanding in his expression that I didn't recognize.

"I don't hate you for that, Bella," Edward told me after a moment, gently. "You were simply telling everyone the story about how you were going to be happy."

My stomach twisted.

"Yes," I breathed, admitting.

Edward's smile didn't waver, from his face nor from the sadness that held it there.

He understood it.

He understood the horror of the lie.

He had named it himself: the story. It was all just some story that I was acting out in my head and for the benefit of everyone in attendance. It was a story to comfort my father and to wound Jacob and to gift myself with a man who loved me enough to be tormented in the same way that I was.

It was all a made-up story and he smiled at me like I wasn't disgusting for admitting it now.

It was the most despicable thing I had ever done in my life and it had meant nothing to me.

And it still didn't mean anything to him.

"After all these years you've spent with me, surely you know that I am just as completely and totally stubborn and determined," Edward said after a moment, his voice quiet thoughtful. "The way you smiled on our wedding day? It was on my face, too. The exact same smile. The exact same story."

"You loved me." It was a statement and a challenge, not a question.

Edward inclined his head slightly. "I did."

"Then you're nothing like me," I insisted, my voice hot and unwilling to let him have this.

Unwilling to let him keep sharing in my horror.

"Aren't I?"

Just as he said.

_Stubborn._

"You're not." My eyes narrowed, irritated and desperate. "You would never do any of the things I've…"

Edward interrupted, as if he hadn't heard me.

"I married a woman who didn't love me, but I would deal with it," he said, forcing me to listen in silence. "I was prepared to raise a child that wasn't my own, but I would deal with it. I knew you were still in love with Jacob and I knew it would ruin everything, but I would deal with it."

He stopped, his breathing quickening slightly as he paused, eyes flashing.

He felt none of the self-loathing that I had when I had confessed my faults. He enunciated each one as clearly and carefully as he dared, spelled out his own shame for my benefit without any hint of weakness.

"Edward…" I whispered, holding my hands out slightly, imploring.

"You can't take the blame for any more than half of what happened," Edward said, before I had the chance to speak. Then, with only a hint of bitterness, "I was always very well aware of the deals I was making."

I felt a lump forming in my throat, helpless against him.

As he was helpless against me.

"Maybe you were foolish, but I was cruel," I said truthfully.

Edward's chin lifted slightly, his determined expression becoming a soft smirk. "I think you were incredibly staunch and – if not perfect – at least admirable."

My mouth dropped open for only the briefest moment before I replied, derisive and trying to ignore my curiosity and desperation, "How can you possibly think that?"

"I didn't always," Edward told me honestly. "It took me a long time to get here, to be able to see that day and all the others clearly. But I've learned so much about you in these past months, more than I ever have, and I'll tell you this: nobody is ever in a place to judge someone else, no matter how well you think you know them or yourself, because everyone has their stories – everyone has their masks."

I wanted to cry and kiss him and fall to his feet in gratitude.

I wanted to laugh and slap him and walk away in disgust.

Instead I simply looked down at my hands, twisting and grinding and nervous, in my lap.

"I've been trying so hard to pull them all off."

"I know you have," Edward agreed kindly. "But it's not going to be easy for you. Everything you do has always taken place behind closed doors."

"I know."

There was a moment's pause as I couldn't meet Edward's eyes.

I continued to stare down, heat in my cheeks, and inside in turmoil and stuttering chaos.

I heard the waiter ask Edward if we would like anything else.

I heard Edward politely request the check.

I had barely touched my meal.

"Have you ever seen burlesque?" Edward asked me suddenly, his voice still quiet. My eyes snapped up to his face in surprise at the question, but he was still smiling at me. Without waiting for a reply, he elaborated with his hands motioning in my direction, "You could get up and dance on a stage for hours longer than anyone else, and you still wouldn't be done taking off all your clothes." A pause. Then, "And that's not your fault."

"Whose fault is it?" I breathed.

Edward's mouth twisted slightly. "Only you know that."

I did.

But he knew it, too.

"In the end, does it really matter whose fault it is?" I asked with a defeated shrug.

Take away every ounce of blame, and the only person responsible for my life was me.

Edward understood.

"Of course not," he said with a friendly shake of his head. Then he was looking at me, the intensity of his gaze singeing my skin. "As long as you can look at yourself when the burlesque is all over and love what you see."

"How?"

After everything, how could that even be possible?

I couldn't imagine.

I watched Edward as he handed the waiter his card smoothly when the check came, the man bowing slightly and turning back with immediate efficiency.

When Edward turned to me, I found myself still waiting for his answer.

"When you first got here, do you remember how Rosalie treated you?" Edward wanted to know.

I didn't have to answer, my unconscious smirk was enough.

Edward smiled in response.

"She didn't think she had to worry about your feelings or your health or your happiness because she assumed that you life was secretly horrible behind the mask. That, based on your actions, it must be hiding a face uglier than she could ever imagine."

"She was right," I said reflexively.

"Of course she was," Edward stated with a nod. "Rosalie has never done or said anything that wasn't true, because she always has been and always will be completely honest. With herself and with the world around her."

I felt my entire stomach sink, my face pale.

I always knew Rosalie was right about me, knew that she was exactly what Edward said she was, but that didn't soften the blow of hearing him speak the words out loud. I hadn't realized how much I had depended on him to understand me, to take my side.

An emptiness grabbed hold of my insides, icy and dark.

Waiting for the blow.

"But that's not where it ends," Edward continued, watching my expression carefully. "Do you know why she loves you now?"

"She doesn't love me," I explained to him, my voice flat, looking him directly in the eye. "She pities me."

Edward looked for a moment like he would laugh at the thought.

"Rosalie pities no one," Edward told me earnestly, convincingly. "When she saw you at Jacob's grave she was finally able to take that next step."

"Next step?"

"The entire truth isn't that people wear masks, Bella," Edward said, his voice calm and even and kind. "It's that behind every mask is an actual _person_. Rosalie couldn't just leave off on the fact that your life had been strange and cruel, or on thinking that you deserved misery for what you'd been through and what you'd done. Not anymore."

"Why not?" I wanted to know.

"Because people are all the same. Every one of us. All the pain and fear and ugliness…it's the same for everyone – me, you, Rosalie – no matter the situation."

"It's _not_ the same," I insisted, not understanding.

There were always degrees, always intent and action.

There were always choices.

"Rosalie was right to feel about me how she did. Some people do worse things than others." I paused. Then admitted quietly, "Sometimes I feel like she saw me more clearly back when she didn't know anything about me."

"That's impossible, Bella," Edward snapped, his voice rising slightly.

I looked at him in surprise, his face all passion and frustration.

"You listen to me," he insisted. I was already listening with every inch of my body. "Rosalie asked all the right questions when you first got here, but about all the wrong things. When she chose sides, when she decided what I felt was more important than what you felt, she was just privileging one kind of pain over another. And I cannot abide by that. Rosalie could no longer abide by that, not when she realized what she had been doing. And you never should, either."

I was silent.

Edward's voice gentled once more when he said, "You will never get anywhere in forgiving yourself and moving on until you throw away that particular criterion of moral judgment."

I was trembling when I confessed, begging, "I don't know how to see myself in any other way."

"Then let me help," Edward said immediately, his voice confident. "Let me tell you how _I_ see you. Because no matter what you might think of me, I _know_ about the burlesque – I know that particular dance – and I've always known about yours and loved you for it and in spite of it."

My heart was pounding in my chest, so hard I thought it would break my body. I could feel the heat of adrenaline and anticipation in every breath I took.

Tension in every line of my body at how badly I wanted to believe him.

"Tell me," I whispered, tears that I couldn't control shining in my eyes.

Edward took a breath.

"Whatever you're getting excluded from – be it the world where you have a family and a mother who loves you or the world of love between two people – you'll always have two options. For you, it was that you could either be with me – a man offering you a life filled with love – or you could let yourself dangle uselessly from a man who didn't want you anymore. Either way, it was your happiness at stake, and either way, you were the one choosing it," Edward said, laying it all out for me.

I could see it, see it all before me as if I was being asked to choose again.

I felt sick with what my answer would be in that moment.

"You chose the more terrifying of the two options," Edward acknowledged, recounting it gently, gingerly. "You fought against it every step of the way, sure, but you were always, always fighting for your own happiness."

Edward stood and for a moment I thought he would walk away from me, leave me there.

Instead he held out his hand.

I glanced around, the check paid and Edward's coat hanging from his arm. Without a word I slid my hand into his and stood to match him. When I released his hand reluctantly, he offered his arm. His face was expressionless but there was a kindness in his eyes, a simple grace that spoke volumes of care and fragility.

And then I saw something that I had never seen before when he looked at me.

Pride.

Leaning in slightly, I held my breath as his lips touched my ear.

Whispering, he spoke. "And in that way, Bella, you have never changed."

Holding tight to each other, we walked out to the car.

The ride back to Hartsel was silent for different reason than the ride away from it had been, although I wasn't sure I could quite define it. There were no more nerves or wondering expectations. There was no flutter of hope. Only a tension that ran deep; darker and heavier than I had ever felt. I wanted to watch him, even to glance in his direction, but my eyes remained fixed out the window. My neck ached with the strength it took to keep it so still and steady and without sight of him, of his expression or his mood.

Not that I would have been able to read him anyway.

My mind was full of his words, of his expressions, of the ways he had touched me and comforted me and looked at me. Hearing him defend me – and his own choices – not blindly, but with a full understanding that not even I could claim. I had been such a young fool, acting without thinking – and believing Edward to be more foolish even than I. I had looked down on him for so long for loving me, and even when we had started to mend ourselves I had still looked down on him for forgiving me. What I knew all my life to be weakness was really an example of his greatest strength.

I was beginning to feel that if I had been so wrong about him, for so many years, that I could have been wrong about anything else in my life.

Including my opinion of my mother.

My opinion of Jacob.

And myself.

When Edward pulled his car up the driveway, gravel crunching and groaning beneath the tires, I was still lost in thought.

In wondering.

It wasn't until Edward opened my car door and offered his hand once more that I returned to the present. And, unsurprisingly, it was the look in his eyes that brought me there. The curve of his smile. The rough warmth of his palm.

Edward walked me to the porch where I turned to him suddenly.

"Thank you for dinner," I said gratefully, quietly, thanking him for so much more. "It was wonderful. Really."

Edward bowed his head slightly. "Thank you for agreeing to come."

"Any time. I love getting nights off from cooking," I told him lightly, with a chuckle. "Seriously, all you have to do is ask."

Edward smiled in return.

I mirrored his smile and walked up the porch stairs to the front door.

My hand on the knob, I realized that I had not heard Edward's steps fall on the wood behind me.

I turned to see him still standing at the foot of the stairs, watching me silently.

"Are you coming in?" I asked him, suddenly and nervously unsure.

I hadn't seen Edward since the night he had held me in the cold room, but before that he had spent almost every night in the ranch house. It had become almost comfortable, almost bearable to see him every morning and to wish him a goodnight every evening. I had almost reached the point where I hadn't needed to dwell on anything of what his presence in my life might mean other than exactly what it was.

His presence.

After I had learned of my son's grave, after old wounds had been violently and ruthlessly reopened, Edward had kept himself in the city without my saying a word. He understood perfectly that I needed space and time, without being told or injured by it.

I felt foolish now in assuming that by breaking the silence we could return to whatever our relationship had been.

With a little more truth and little more strength.

"I think I'm going to go back to the city," Edward said softly, though it was perfectly clear.

Immediately I felt my cheeks flood with color, my mind similarly flooding with every scenario in which I had done something wrong.

Said something.

Thought something.

"Did I…?"

Edward shook his head immediately, taking one step forward onto the first stair as he looked up at me imploringly. "I just think my mother is probably waiting up for me. High school all over again, you know?" He shook his head with a small, fond laugh. "Desperate to hear how my date went."

My breath caught in my throat, foolishly.

"This was a date then?" I breathed with a choked laugh.

"Bella…" Edward gently scolded, still smiling.

I returned his smile, a wave of my hand indicating I had been teasing him.

I could hear his words clearly from the beginning of the night.

All the things we meant to each other and all the things we didn't.

Every complicated feeling and twist that made such a simple hope impossible.

_This is dinner._

Nothing.

An act of forgiveness that went one step too far.

Edward must have seen something in my face, because he stepped up onto the porch and drew level to me, his expression so heartbreakingly compassionate that I wanted to turn away.

I wanted to throw open the door and lock him out.

I couldn't.

Edward's hands reached out, coming to rest gently on my bare arms. His fingers scorched my skin, goosebumps rising against the heat and the cold surrounding it.

Softly, quietly, Edward leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to my left cheek.

Then another, to my right.

My hands lifted of their own accord and gripped his arms as he gripped mine, tighter.

Holding him to me.

He never moved back, never moved away.

His breath was hot on my jaw, my neck, my shoulder as I stood completely still, holding my own. We stood, for several moments, our cheeks only a breath apart and our hands grasping each other so carefully.

Suddenly, his hands tightened and I only had time to draw a single gasping breath before his mouth covered mine.

I was frozen for only a moment in surprise before I responded to his lips, hot and needing against my own. Every gentle kiss of forgiveness and friendship and love that came before this was wiped clean from my mind until all that remained was a driving need. Edward's hands slid down to my waist at the same time mine grabbed hold of his shirt, knuckles pressing into his chest hard enough to hurt.

Against his kiss I felt every single one of my masks being torn from me, falling away because maybe I didn't need them anymore. Not so long as Edward was kissing me. There was such excruciating pleasure in dropping all of my defenses; in recognizing that a single moment could stretch into infinity the second we let it. And how much more excruciating was it because everything I was made of was defenses? And how much more pleasure was there in it?

Edward's kiss was frantic, his lips punishing and wonderful, pushing so hard against me like he thought it wasn't really happening. All our years of marriage, all the lust and passion he had felt for me, and no touch of his had made my whole body come alive as it did in that moment.

And the second I thought it, the second I was sure I could only ever be alive like this, Edward pulled his mouth away.

Ending just as abruptly as it began.

His breath was heavy on my face, his eyes still closed tight, as I looked up at him.

Edward lowered his head down to my shoulder, pressing his lips against my neck again and again.

Slow, this time, and languorous.

Unsure.

"What am I doing?" I heard him whisper, pleading and his lips dragged across my skin.

"You're kissing me," I reminded him, breathlessly, helplessly. One of my hands snaked up through his arms to wrap around his neck, lightly brushing against his hair. "Please don't stop."

I felt him take a deep, shuddering breath against me. I closed my eyes and let my own head drop so that our skin brushed against each other as he pulled away from me.

Out of my arms.

I felt colder than I ever had.

"Bella," he said my name, his voice strong but not unaffected. "I can't do this. I don't…"

I could hear him struggling and I looked up in time to see him run his hand through his hair nervously. He wasn't avoiding my gaze, though. Rather, he was staring at me as he never had before. There were many emotions on his face, but amongst them all I could see regret the clearest.

And fear.

No matter what he said about understanding me, or forgiving me, he would always be afraid of me.

Because I was the one that would always hurt him the most.

I had to ask the question.

It was impossible not to, not when he was looking at me like I was the only demon in the world he had left to fight.

There would only be one reason for that.

"Do you still love me?" My voice was barely audible, but my eyes never wavered from him.

He heard me.

I watched his entire face fall and I braced myself for his answer before he held his arms out in surrender.

He shook his head, so sad.

"How could I still love you?"

His voice held as much anguish as I felt, when the tears threatened to fall. I swallowed quickly and hard, willing them back. He could see. He took a step towards me, one hand lifting as if to comfort me, but he stopped just short of contact.

He couldn't touch me.

I turned my back to him, biting my lip until I tasted copper.

"Bella…" I heard him begin and end, not knowing what to say.

I stepped to the door and turned the knob quickly, pulling it open.

Edward said nothing to stop me.

I walked inside and slammed the door quickly behind me. Just as I should have before. With a shuddering breath, I exhaled and my entire body weakened and I sank to the ground. My dress stretched and billowed around me, hiding my crooked limp legs.

I took deep breaths, waiting for the tears to come.

There was silence.

For a moment I almost expected to hear a knock.

I waited for it or for the steps of a retreat and listened to my own breathing with my back pressed against the door.

Instead, I heard a crack of wood, slightly muffled. A quiet curse. I got to my feet slowly and turned to look out the window. Edward stood, forehead against the banister, cradling his right hand. I could see his knuckles slightly raw, the mark in the pillar where he had struck out.

In protest.

His breaths were coming deep and steady, like mine.

I couldn't look away.

He stood still for a moment before he turned, without a glance towards the house or the window where I stood, and walked quickly to his car. He ripped open the door and slammed it after him, his mouth moving silently, his face so flushed.

I watched as he threw the car into reverse before whipping it around and speeding down the driveway.

Being chased by a ghost.

Or a memory.

When he was gone, I remained.

I rested my head against the cool glass of the window and looked out into the night.

Without lights, I could see the dark lovely shape of the land.

It was exactly the same as when I had left it.

Only now when I looked at it I could feel Edward's kiss humming throughout my entire body.

I had never felt anything like it.

Because in my entire life I had only ever let myself love one man.

And he was the wrong one.


	41. The Call

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Call**

I placed the phone on the counter, slowly and careful not to make a sound. My head was already full of buzzing and humming, static white noise surrounding every movement. I wasn't sure I could handle the click that had disconnected me from the voice on the other end, too.

My hand was braced against the wall, propping me on my feet.

My stomach rolled, pitching violently and for a moment I thought I would be sick. Then I was suffocating. Then breathing too fast and hard.

I knew the fog of panic that was wrapping itself around me, strangling.

I didn't consciously decide to call him, but my hands back on the phone like I had never touched it before, punching his number without considering anything else. There was only one thought, consuming me and driving each staggering breath that fought against pain and fear: _Edward will know what to do._

Straight to voicemail, just as it had all morning.

It was the third time I had tried to call him, to speak with him, and he hadn't picked up his phone once. This morning it had worried me, frustrated me, made me feel insecure.

Now, I felt empty without his voice.

Unwilling and from a foggy distance I could understand why he wasn't answering my calls.

It seemed so irrelevant, but the part of me that still answered to reason knew that it was still relevant to him. Maybe the most relevant thing in his world right now. Images from last night, from dinner and after, pulled up sluggish behind my eyes.

So far away and only hours earlier.

There was only the smallest flutter in my stomach as I recalled the heady sensation of his lips desperate against mine. Where earlier I had flushed and tortured myself replaying every second, now it was muffled under the lead of the phone, dropped back down into the cradle.

I knew his avoidance and I understood it.

I turned around and made my way to the front door, barely watching where my feet landed. I heard the steps against the wood of the porch, against the gravel of the driveway, and noticed vaguely that the air had a cold bite to it, sunny but chasing away the summer. I opened the door to my truck, shifted into reverse and made my way out to the road, all in one fluid motion.

Automatic and not really feeling anything.

I wanted to feel concern for all the ways he was sure to be tormenting himself, I wanted to feel remorse for putting him in an impossible situation, I wanted to give him every inch of time and space that he needed from me.

But all I felt was the unrelenting and uncompromising knowledge that I needed to get to him.

_Find him,_ every part of me screamed.

I felt nothing but that.

I pressed my foot a little harder against the ancient gas pedal and shot straight like a knife down the road.

I couldn't slow down.

* * *

"Is Edward here?"

Esme's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, a smile touching the corners of her mouth as she opened the door to me, quickly fading with one brief look at my face.

"No, he's not," she replied, glancing around quickly with concern. The she was reaching out her hand to draw me in, her fingers curling gently around my shoulder, sliding to my back to guide me. "Bella, what's wrong?"

I walked into the house, that same feeling of numbness holding me together. My brief flair of hope that Edward was near, diminished against the kindness of his mother's gaze.

"I just…I need to find him," I told her quietly, unable or unwilling to speak more than that.

"Did something happen?"

I was sure the expression on my face was answer enough because she was sighing and worried and gently pushing me into a chair in the living room.

I wanted to answer.

Or I didn't want to be rude.

"Tell me," she commanded quietly.

Her eyes were locked on mine, willing me to speak, lending me her strength. I could see her braced to take the pain of whatever I had to say.

I couldn't tell her.

Couldn't speak the words.

Every corner of my mind was flooded with images of blood and white sheets and the sickly clean smell of hospitals.

Flaring headlights rising up, blinding with their speed.

Glass shattering, beautiful shards of light slicing at fragile skin.

Shattering so deep.

I didn't know how to form words around the visions in my mind. I didn't know how to tell her what had happened without dragging her down into my darkness. I didn't know how to ask for support without pity, strength without weakness.

Esme had reached out and taken my hand, sitting in the chair close to me, leaning forward intently.

I blinked.

Swallowed.

"I think the hardest part of all of this has been…_him_," I whispered.

It was the most I could manage, delving back into the past.

Rosalie holding me by the tree, Edward holding me through the night.

My own arms, always empty.

It had consumed my thoughts for over a week, so fresh in my mind now. Twisted up with that phone call, bound by inextricable pain.

Esme's grip on me tightened.

There was no need to clarify who I meant.

"It was always going to be," she said with a small nod, understanding and firm.

I exhaled long and ragged.

Four years in my past and it still was – forever would be – all about that boy child.

The son that I killed.

"You know that old saying? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?" My voice was level now, and so emotionless. It was the only way to keep it steady. Speaking the words the moment the revelation struck me, without delay, was the only way to keep them pouring from my mouth. "It's a lie."

I dropped my eyes from Esme's at last, focusing in on our hands.

I hadn't realized I was gripping her hand too, and so tight.

"Everything that's ever happened to me in my life…it made me weak." I spoke the words in barely a whisper. "In the only moment when it mattered that I be truly strong, I couldn't do it. I couldn't see him. Couldn't…"

I stopped, swallowing. Then again. And again.

Choking on the lump forming in my throat, forcing back the burning.

I glanced up for a moment, under my lashes, and saw the sadness in Esme's eyes.

She could hear clearly the space in the sentence, a blank I couldn't fill.

"I ran away, instead." I finished vacantly. "Forced Edward to run away, too."

Esme exhaled, shaking her head, leaning closer.

She couldn't get close enough.

Then she was kneeling on the floor beside me, our hands still twined together tight and near frantic.

"I don't think you ran away because you were weak," Esme said quietly. "You feel, Bella. You feel everything so much stronger than most people. And losing him…?"

She let the question hang, because she didn't need to say the rest.

_The final loss, the one that broke me all the way to my core._

I exhaled quickly.

Too much.

Too big.

I was so afraid to look at her again, but she was beneath me, finding my downcast eyes with an expression that spoke nothing except love. A love I didn't deserve, had never deserved. I stole her son from her, I stole their precious years together. From her, and from Carlisle.

Years of misery that could never be returned or paid for.

And yet she remained kneeling before me, tethering me to her.

"Whatever it is," she said with confidence, "I don't think you'll run from it this time."

I sat perfectly still, as if I was taking a beating.

I felt like I was.

The she smiled small and nodded only slightly.

"You're so strong." Her voice was pure, believing what she said with every inch of her.

I wanted so badly to see what she saw when she looked at me, to view the world as she did. To see love and understanding wherever she looked.

I couldn't, though.

Her words were like punches being thrown, blackening my body.

Because I still didn't have the hang of it – hearing someone love me out loud.

Painful and so so wonderful.

"Tell me what's going on, Bella. Tell me what happened."

I didn't deserve her love, but my time here had taught me that maybe I could find a place where I did.

And it always, always began with words.

I nodded slowly and, palm to palm with the first mother I had ever known, I began to speak.

* * *

Rosalie sat by my side on the couch in her living room.

I had stopped speaking a long time ago, the words had poured from me as they had with Esme. So simple. I felt the weight easing off of me each time I spoke. Esme's embrace and tears and worries making me feel so strangely safe. In the same way I felt safe when Rosalie turned the television on when I was finished, without saying a word.

Her face was pale, her arm was pressed lightly against my arm, but those were the only indications that she had heard what I had told her.

Edward wasn't at her house, either.

She hadn't heard from him.

She didn't know where he was.

Still, I told her everything without her prompting. Because I needed her to know – to know me and to know my life. She had thought the very worst of me, she _knew_ the very worst of me, and still she sat by my side.

Unflinching acceptance.

Rosalie flipped through channels silently.

I didn't think she was actually seeing them.

She must have been paying them some attention, because eventually she stopped and placed the remote gently by her side, by my side.

I could turn it off if I wanted.

With that small gesture, I forced myself to turn to the program she had selected.

I almost laughed in my shock as I realized what she had chosen.

It was a rerun of a game show.

That horrible, evil game show where people are forced up on stage and they have to tell the truth about terribly personal questions. In front of the people they love, in front of an audience, in front of the nation.

I had seen it before, once.

I had hated every perverse second of it.

I fixed my gaze on it now, listening to the questions as they got steadily nastier, steadily grosser.

People falling apart on national television, for the world to see.

"Have you ever watched this show?" Rosalie asked suddenly, her voice so calm and even. Just casually interested.

"I've watched it," I told her truthfully. "Back in New York. I didn't care much for it."

Rosalie nodded, understanding.

Then, "I think it's the most beautiful thing in the world."

I turned to face her abruptly, surprised and unable to hide it.

"Excuse me?" I tried to keep the incredulity, the judgment from my voice.

I don't know how successful I was.

Rosalie didn't seem to notice.

She just shrugged.

"Think about it: going on television and being asked if you're strong enough to stay exactly who you are, no matter what they throw at you." She still didn't look at me. "I think it's beautiful."

We were silent then.

I felt my heart pounding, my head pounding, with all the thousands of things I wanted to say. All the reasons such a show was utterly and completely depraved.

The people selling secrets for money.

The advertisers profiting from their embarrassment, and from the people who loved to watch it.

The jeers of the audience like a Roman coliseum.

None of them had anything to do with what Rosalie had said.

That one simple statement, in the back of my head as I continued to watch.

Instead of the sick enjoyment the audience derived from the pain of others, I focused on the people on the stage.

On their words.

And I began to see.

This show didn't have a single moment of real, true life.

But the more I watched, the more I almost wished that wasn't true.

It wasn't about ethics or morals or the value judgments of society, it was about what was actual and true and what people wished were and were not true. It was a wind tunnel and a hurricane and those people on that stage were supposed to sit still in it, no matter what, and just be honest.

Just be completely naked.

No matter how bad it got, every single terrible scary thing they'd ever done, maybe they'd be asked about it, and whether or not it was true or a lie, the entire viewing audience – and me and Rosalie – were going to know the answer.

Even if they didn't answer at all, we'd know.

There was something very masochistic about it and something really nasty about watching it. But the thought of being on that stage and laying down every fake propaganda moment, every lie I'd ever told, to or about myself?

I felt like if it was me, up on that stage, I would literally start to glow.

"I'll miss you, Bella."

Rosalie's voice jerked me back to reality abruptly, and it took me a moment to process her words.

I looked over to her, surprised once more.

She was unlike anyone, ever.

She was still looking, unmoving, at the television.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly with nervous emotion.

"You're leaving," she said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I haven't…"

I paused.

I hadn't even considered my next course of action, what would happen after I found Edward. Since the phone call, he had been the only future I had been able to hold. That far and no further.

I forced myself to consider now.

Because I had to.

And Rosalie had known what I would decide, where my next actions would take me, before I had even known there _was_ a next.

"Yeah. I am." My voice was so quiet, so true.

"I knew the moment you told me what happened."

She knew, of course she did.

Rosalie saw things that normal people didn't, couldn't, because she lived in a world where the truth was only thing that existed. When I had been crippled by lies, she hadn't been able to see me. I had showed her that behind every mask I'd ever had, I still existed. And she had showed me that the entire point of being a human being is entering and maintaining a state where you are strong enough to do without the lies altogether.

"You're beautiful, Rosalie," I told her softly.

At last, she turned towards me.

Tears were tracking beautiful down her cheeks. She was looking at me with as much desperate, painful love as she had looked at Edward when we had arrived in Hartsel. Launching herself off the porch and into his arms.

She smiled at me, aching.

"As beautiful as this trashy show?" she asked with a light laugh.

The trashy show were lies dissolved before her eyes, where people – for just a moment – were as honest as she had always been.

The trashy show that spelled out every moment of my life since I had come here.

Since I had met her.

My breath shuddered.

"Oh yes," I whispered.

* * *

"I'm sorry to lose you, Bella." Mike, kind as always, released me from his regretful embrace with a sigh. "You've done really great work here."

No words wondering why I had to go, why it was so immediate, and I figured that the torture of his kindness was a fair trade for not being forced to answer questions about my resignation and sudden departure.

One look of my face must have told him that he didn't want to know.

I looked around once more at the brightly colored aisles, cheery and organized and friendly. I would miss this store, the place where I had discovered I was more than nothing. That I could have a place in the world that didn't belong to anyone but myself.

I had worked hard here, I had done what I had set out to do. I had learned independence. I had earned a wage. I had been responsible for something other than myself and my own life.

And in the end, it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough for me to feel like I ever measured up to Edward, saving lives with his hands. It wasn't enough for Edward to feel like I truly was on my own, that I could ever support myself. It wasn't enough to make him love me.

Wasn't enough to keep me here.

"Bella?"

I whipped around at the familiar voice, my eyes widening in surprise as Jasper stepped towards me.

For a brief, paralyzing moment, I thought he had come looking for me. That Esme or Rosalie had said something. Irrational fear, as soon as I saw a basket slung over his arm casually, remarkably overfilled with food.

"Do you and Alice only shop once a month?" I asked with an involuntary chuckle, surprising myself as I motioned to the amount of food he was purchasing.

I knew at once, from the expression on his face, that he hadn't even heard my laugh or my teasing question.

All he had heard was my conversation with Mike.

Or part of it.

I felt myself pale slightly as Jasper's eyes burned into me, curiosity and concern making me tense.

He glanced over to Mike quickly and, with a friendly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he placed his basket on the counter. Mike nodded at him in reply and started ringing up the groceries quickly.

Without saying a word to compel me to stay I stood next to Jasper, as he waited for Mike to bag his items, as he paid.

All polite, but there was an unspoken tension that kept me rooted to the ground beside him.

Another goodbye I couldn't leave without.

I took a few of his bags off the counter as he turned to leave, helping him carry them outside.

Mike smiled at me sadly and waved.

I hadn't said as much, but I thought he knew that maybe this would be the last time he would see me.

I knew for sure.

I followed Jasper out into the dimming light.

"You're quitting your job?" Only Jasper could ask such a question without a hint of accusation.

_Verify these facts. Are they the truth?_

I took a deep shuddering breath, never realizing how difficult this particular goodbye would be. Not understanding what Jasper meant to me – through Alice, through the horses, through Edward.

"Yes, I am."

I could see the question forming in Jasper's eyes. How much he didn't – couldn't – understand about me. About my decisions. About who I was and what I was doing to this life that others he cared about had worked so hard to make better. _For_ me.

And now I was a deserter.

Before he could wonder why aloud, in a voice I knew couldn't hide his thoughts, I asked him abruptly, "Do you know where Edward is?"

Jasper blinked twice, then took the question in stride.

"I don't," he said with a small shake of his head. "Have you called him?"

"He won't answer," I told him quietly as we reached his car.

Jasper clicked the trunk open and together we placed the bags inside, carefully arranged so they wouldn't slide.

"I'm sure he'll call you back." The words, the tone was casual. But Jasper's eyes were locked onto me as he said it. He knew something was happening, he could sense my panic or my fear or my grief.

I shook my head. "I'm not."

Jasper straightened, closing the trunk and turning to face me. His posture was confident, curious, wary. But when he spoke his voice was so quietly gentle.

"Did something happen?"

I wanted to cry out, fall to my feet, pound my fists against the pavement in frustration. I wanted to tell him everything, bring him quiet into my confidence like Esme and Rosalie.

Yet even they didn't know _why_ Edward was avoiding me.

_Everything happened at once,_ I wanted to shout at him.

I wondered how Jasper would react.

I didn't know enough about him to predict his movements, to tell him all that was firing through my mind and crushing through my blood.

"He kissed me last night," I said at last, not knowing if Jasper would know the significance of that action; how much he understood about the marriage of his neighbors.

His wife's little broken friend and Carlisle's little broken son.

Jasper was silent against my confession.

The quiet seemed to imply that he knew more than I could have guessed.

He didn't look surprised.

"He always answers his phone," I continued, holding my arms out helplessly.

He _did_ always answer his phone.

Before I took him for granted, before I broke him and begged his forgiveness and wore him back down. Before I twisted every emotion he had for me, before I mangled his love beyond all recognition.

Before he was ashamed to still want me.

Because, in the end, that was what his silence boiled down to.

The bare bones.

If he wanted me after everything, it was against his will – and he hated himself for it.

"He'll call," Jasper said quietly but sure. "Be patient."

For some reason, his words soothed me for just a moment. To consider the world through Jasper's slow, easy view. Where everything that was meant to be would come true, where everything would happen in it's own time. There was comfort in thinking that every action was simply a wave on the ocean, unfurling and rolling in, unstoppable and inevitable.

"He doesn't love me anymore," I said softly.

Surprise registered on Jasper's face for the first time since he had stepped into the store.

Again, I found myself wondering how much he knew.

"Did you want him to?" he wondered, his brows raised, his tone still so kind.

"I just want him to call," I insisted.

"Give him time."

I looked down at my feet, my face flushing with agony. I wanted so badly to give Edward time, all the time he needed, all the time he deserved, all the time in the world. I wanted him to figure himself out, to be sure, to consider, to be careful. To guard his heart so well, so fiercely. Just like I had taught him to do.

Impossible.

"I don't have any time," I whispered, my hands twisting together.

"What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath.

"I'm leaving, Jasper."

"Leaving?" Jasper blinked, confused once more.

"As soon as I can," I told him with a firm nod. "I need to tell him…"

"You need to tell Alice." Jasper's words cut me off abruptly. They were remarkably sharp. Still filled with concern, with empathy, but suddenly pointed.

Not open for discussion.

"Yes."

I swallowed, considering that particular goodbye I had yet to give.

The stabbing pain in my stomach returned slightly, stinging and biting, as I imagined her face.

As I imagined my own life without her.

I leaned against Jasper's car, my back hitting the windows, my hand running up to pull through my hair, fingers gripping and tensing within the strands.

I felt Jasper's warmth at my side then, his arm reaching out for his hand to clasp around mine, pulling it gently from my hair. I remembered doing the same thing for Edward, once. Except, he didn't release my hand once he had it.

Our fingers interwoven, like Esme. Our arms touching, like Rosalie.

Here was my comfort, here was my safety.

"I don't know everything that's happened between you and Edward, Bella," Jasper admitted, sounding almost regretful.

As if it was his own fault, as if he had not taken the time. As if he had never taken me in, sheltered and fed me and given me his horses, given me Alice.

I couldn't laugh, but I wanted to bitterly.

"I know Edward, though, and I think that he…" Jasper began slowly.

"Maybe you know him and maybe you don't." I shook my head mournfully. "But you don't know _me_. You don't know what I've done."

Jasper looked at me for a long time, silent.

Then, glancing down as if he was unsure, "I know about Nessie. I know about your child. And about…Jacob."

My stomach clenched immediately, painfully, though not as painful as I would have thought. Not as painful by half, not even as I knew that when he said that name, he wasn't referring to my son.

He was referring to the man.

The man I had loved, the man I might still love in spite of myself and in spite of everything.

That horrible wrenching feeling in my gut, telling me I wasn't free, and Jasper somehow knew.

Through Edward or Rosalie or Esme or Alice he had heard.

Heard and said nothing until now.

I wasn't angry with him, with anyone.

I was suddenly and extraordinarily grateful.

"Jacob…" I breathed the name quietly, significantly.

I knew if I left this place, when I left, it would be to him that I would find myself.

There was something that tied me to him, something that I was unable to escape.

After everything, I was always going to have to face him, in the end.

"There was this thing between us, I think it had always been there…" I told Jasper slowly, not knowing if he would understand. Not caring too much if he didn't. "This thread…this spark…"

"You and Jacob?" Jasper clarified quietly, curiously. Without judgment or reproach.

I nodded and continued, not looking at him, "Have you ever seen an electrical wire that's been knocked to the ground? The way it sparks and dances on the asphalt and lays quiet, then flares up again. It was like that."

"Sounds intense." Jasper's voice was calm, unremarkable.

"It was," I agreed. "And scary…and powerful. And beautiful." My voice was scratching and straining, my hand gripping and crushing, my arm pressing and grinding. "And I thought I knew what I would have, if I ever lost him."

"What?"

"Nothing like that," I said softly, a small sob escaping with the words. "A watered down life."

Jasper understood. "You wanted the intensity."

"I wanted Jacob."

I could feel Jasper turn to face me, his arm pulling away, his hand remaining in mine as he shifted his body away from the car to stand before me. With his other hand, he lifted my chin slowly. Blue eyes clear and piercing honest.

"And now?"

I thought of every moment spent crying and fighting and pushing and screaming with Edward.

The hate and the love twisted up and twined together.

The bitter sadness, the muted happiness, the tainted hope, the crushing anger.

_A watered down life._

"Nothing has happened the way I thought it would."

My life in Colorado every vivid painful color, every stretch of emotion, every yawning blackness and searing light.

Jasper's thumb stroked gently along the line of my jaw.

"Edward will find you."

* * *

I told Esme of the phone call in the early hours of the morning.

I told Rosalie that I was leaving Colorado.

I told Jasper about the kiss that forced Edward to run.

To Alice, I told everything.

We sat, side by side – like Rosalie on a couch, like Jasper on a car – on a bale of hay in the barn as I confessed.

Confessed every moment of the day, every moment of the past night, every moment of my time in Hartsel.

The poems, the divorce papers, the tree and the misery.

The kiss.

The call.

The search.

The pain.

Alice listened to it all, silent and eyes wide.

I imagined myself on a stage.

_Lay it all down, and you're free._

When I finished, Alice was quiet for a long time.

Her eyes were on her hands, hiding her expression from me.

I waited patiently, surprised that I wasn't nervous.

I trusted Alice with everything.

"You're really leaving," she said at last.

It wasn't a question.

I nodded my answer anyway. "As soon as I tell Edward."

Alice looked up at me then, her eyes glistening slightly. "Do you have to?"

There was a desperation in her voice that shocked me. There was a want and a need, a plea that I was certain only I felt. It was inconceivable to me that Alice would need me for anything.

I expected sadness, maybe regret.

I hadn't thought the pain to stretch so deep on her side.

It was always going to be mine.

"I don't want to run anymore, Alice." I wanted her to understand. "I can't. I won't. I won't run from another person I love."

Alice's eyes locked to mine. "What about Edward?"

I swallowed the agony that tore through me at her question, I swallowed the words I had cried to Jasper, that I wanted to cry to her as I looked away, down to the gold hay beneath my fingers.

_Edward doesn't love me anymore._

Instead, "He doesn't need me."

She seemed to hear the unspoken, understood the implied.

"You won't come back?" I could hear the quiver of tears and I didn't want to see them. Not in her beautiful eyes, so happy and lively.

I was crushing her.

It was the only thing I was sure that I was good at, and I was doing it to the person who mattered the most to me in the world.

This wonderful, strong, incredible girl who was suddenly so fragile.

Who I was suddenly breaking.

"I…"

I didn't know what to say, how to finish, how to will her understanding. There didn't seem to be any way before me where I could comfort her. No words to explain that I loved her, even though I wasn't sure I would ever be able to journey to this place again.

Not without Edward.

"Santana will miss you," Alice said quietly.

I could feel the muscles in my face spasm slightly, trying to hold together.

Trying not to collapse.

"Maybe not," I whispered with a small shrug.

I heard Alice sniff, so small.

I could see Santana watching us from his stall, ears flicking forward and back lazily, eyes trained on both of us curiously.

"You know, it's the hardest thing in the world to earn your love, Bella." Her voice was so soft. Spoken with such heartbreaking sympathy I wanted to fall apart right in this barn.

Instead, I tensed.

My legs trembled.

She had said the same thing about Santana once.

After a moment, she continued.

"It's one of the things I've always loved most about you, and it's one of the things Edward loves about you, that we all love about you: the way you love when you finally let yourself, the way you throw everything you have into it." I felt a small hand come to rest on my shoulder blade. I shivered under the warmth and held my breath as I heard her add quietly, "The way you make it worth it."

My stomach rolled nauseous and full to bursting with love.

The world, as Esme saw it.

"Alice, I'm afraid."

Without a moment more of hesitation, I felt Alice throw herself on me, against my back, as if she could press against it hard enough to absorb all the weight it carried.

Curled herself around me.

Around Isabella Cullen and all her aching loneliness and pain and anger. The calm and patient wife she waited so eternally to be: to stand with Edward through anything, if only she had been brave enough.

Around Isabella Swan, the good strong daughter. The free spirit, estranged child of a woman who couldn't put enough miles between them to quell her need.

Around Bella, limp as a doll, leaning back against her friend, being held.

Alice knew the beast in the cage, she knew the tigers and the monsters in me and didn't care at all. Every terrible thing I had done, every twisted thought I had ever had and Alice loved me, not in spite of them, but _for_ them. For what they meant.

Because intentions always meant something to her.

I could feel her calling me back across the line, with her arms around me, and I could almost feel everything drain out until there was nothing left, just pieces she tried desperately to collect and hold together.

With all the strength in that tiny fierce frame.

* * *

I heard the music before I saw him.

The faint notes gliding through the dark and weaving in and out of the air around me as I approached the ranch house slowly.

By the time I reached the porch, I recognized vaguely the tune.

When I opened the front door, I had identified the composer.

Stepping into the hallway and I could name it his Concerto #2.

Walking with labored steps, drawn out and luxurious, toward the library and I recalled that he only played Rachmaninoff when he was tense. Pounding black and white keys firm into the wooden frame, banging at the strings in rapid succession. Impossible to play without remarkable concentration, unable to execute without every single muscle tense, defensive, quick.

Stepping into the library, the flurry of precise articulation had faded into the gentle rhapsody of the melody. Overtaking the grand scales and fading away into a simple, breathtaking anthem.

For a moment I watched him caress the keys tenderly now, soothing them and building, back swaying with every emotion wrought by the music.

"You came," I breathed, my whole body shuddering slightly.

I knew he would stop playing when he heard me, I was braced for it, but an emptiness still took hold of me as his hands stilled.

Edward turned quickly, his surprise evident at my sudden arrival.

As soon as his eyes met mine, the emptiness was gone.

But for that brief moment, as he turned, I felt like I couldn't breath.

Edward stood from the piano bench slowly, his eyes trailing over me quickly.

"Are you alright?" he asked me, all examination. "My mother said…"

My stomach clenched.

"What did she say?" I wanted to know, nervous.

Edward shook his head, swallowing. I watched his Adam's apple bob down, then back up. I watched his eyes drop to the floor.

There was a long pause.

"She said you needed to see me," he answered at last.

Then his eyes were back on my face, still searching.

Still afraid.

"You wouldn't answer your phone." My voice was quiet, because he already knew that.

"Bella…" Edward's voice was almost apologetic as he took one small step towards me.

Almost apologetic, but not quite.

"It's okay." I took a small step back. "I get it."

I knew from the moment I had tried to call him this morning what his silence had meant. I hadn't had time to dwell on it, to let it torture me, but I still knew.

I knew that the kiss we had shared last night had changed things for both of us.

For the first time I could remember, I had been free to drop all of my defenses.

That kiss had torn all my masks from me...just as it had erected all of his.

Still, Edward stood before me now, shaking his head.

There was a sadness in his eyes that I didn't understand and a trepidation that I did.

"Somehow, I doubt that very much," he remarked with a humorless smile.

I shrugged.

"You didn't need to avoid me."

"I wasn't avoiding you…" Edward began then paused, considering. "I just needed a little time to think."

"I don't want to talk about last night," I assured him, my voice as gentle, as kind as I could make it. I ignored the fact that it was still trembling slightly, hoping Edward would ignore it too.

He didn't.

"I think we have to," he stated firmly, his eyes on me so stubborn.

I could see avoidance through his eyes, what I must look like to him. How he was standing, trying to come towards me through his fear, with every instinct of self-preservation telling him to get as far from me as he could. How, even now, he was trying to protect me, reassure me.

Do right by me, at the cost of himself.

"I'm leaving, Edward," I blurted out, so abrupt I caught the end of his name in my teeth as they smashed against my lip.

There was a beat of incredulity.

In the span of a moment there was shock, hope, anger, confusion, concern, relief all in the flash of his eyes on my face.

Then he was stepping towards me and I wasn't moving back.

"What?" he asked, breathless surprise.

"I'm leaving."

"I heard you." There was an edge to his voice now. "Where?"

"I'm going home," I told him. Then, clarifying, "To Forks."

"Bella, we can talk about what happened." Edward's entire body was tense again as he stepped right up to me, stopping before he reached me. There was an element of worry in his tone, but the most prominent was disbelief.

He didn't think I would really go.

"None of it means you have to leave, that I want you gone. Not at all." He reached his hands out, brushed them lightly down my arms, his brow furrowed. "In fact…"

"This isn't about you," I said, my tone surprisingly sharp.

I pulled myself away from him slightly, ignoring the rolling in the pit of my stomach, the sudden warmth in my limbs.

The most I had felt all day.

Since the call.

I was going to be sick. I was going to suffocate. I was breathing too hard and too fast.

"Well, of course I understand if you need to…" Edward began before he noticed something in my face that halted his words.

I felt myself shudder and I thought I must be crying.

"Bella, what's wrong?" Edward asked quietly, pale.

I touched my fingers lightly to my cheek.

They came back wet, shaking.

"I got a call this morning," I whispered, whimpered.

He made no move to touch me again.

"From whom?"

I shook my head slowly.

"It's my dad, Edward." The words escaped my lips, a sudden flash before my eyes.

Edward sitting in his office as I stood before him.

Telling me we were leaving.

Because his father…

_His father…_

"He's…there was an accident," I managed through the shaking, the tears, the memories pounding and splitting in my head.

Tires and blood and life crumbling around me in ruins.

Through all of it, Edward's love holding me together.

Silent, unanswered, but constant.

_How could I still love you?_

Even as I felt him breathe my name, even as I felt him pull me forward against his chest, I cried out in anguish.


	42. The Drive

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Drive**

There was a heavy silence in the air, stiflingly patient and punctuated by the light patter of rain on the roof.

I looked out into the driveway at my truck, red and headlights blazing through the grey of the morning. Packed and ready to carry me away from this place, from the home I had built to the home where I was born. From the place where I longed to stay to the place where I longed to return. Dichotomy warring inside me, unrelenting and undeniable.

My hand skimmed along the wet wood of the rail as six quiet figures stood at my back.

Slowly, with a deep breath, I turned to face them.

I had already said my goodbyes, in the only way that mattered.

This was simply an observance; a ritual; a ceremony.

A backwards look.

A last glance.

Esme gave me an encouraging small smile, stepping forward. I wasn't surprised to feel her arms first. Always first. Always the most willing to love; open arms and heart the size of the entire world. She felt her sadness, and her happiness, purely and without fear. Her grip was strong around my shoulders when she ducked to embrace me. Golden bronze hair brushed against my cheek as she held me to her.

Rosalie and Emmett moved together. Rosalie held as tightly as Esme, tighter, but was so quick to step back. Emmett's arm wrapped around her shoulder immediately, tucking her against his side. Supporting her through the crumble on her face. I could see regret in Emmett's smile, in his silence, but there was still happiness. Support and care for Rosalie, and for me. Hope that I would find what I needed, hope that I could help my father. Happiness that I would have the chance. Always glowing, even through the rain.

Jasper nodded to me over Alice's head, simple and calming.

So quiet.

Alice's embrace was all whispers in my ear, begging me to stay, begging me to come back, begging me to never, ever forget her. I held her to me so close, my hands gripping her back, my face digging into her shoulder, crushing. This girl, who taught me what it was to love. To love someone, to love myself, to love my life. And to live it.

I could only cling to her until she pulled away.

There was only him, then.

I held my breath when he came towards me, noticing with a pounding heart as the others went inside the house so that we could be alone.

I didn't want them to go.

I didn't want to go.

What if I still needed them?

I felt the tips of his fingers dancing along the outside of my hands, seeking entrance. I turned my palms slightly, felt his fingers slide between mine. Our hands pressed together between our bodies, linking us physically even as he looked at me so deeply.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, so quietly.

He had stayed with me all night, helping me pack my things and asking again and again if I wanted him to come with me. And I did. But I couldn't ask it of him, I couldn't beg to lean on him. I wanted something from him that he couldn't give me anymore, and so he couldn't stand beside me. He could help me pack up my things, he could watch without saying a word as I folded divorce papers into my bag, he could say goodbye to me in the rain. But he needed to be free of me, of every heartache I wanted to force on him.

I nodded at him slowly, confirming that my choice had been made.

The rest was his.

I would take the truck, because I would need it once I was there. I would need that mobility always, belonging to me. I wasn't afraid to move anymore. A plane would be faster, a plane would get me to Forks immediately. I didn't need immediate. I needed time to drag myself there, to watch every inch of land, every mile that I was stretching between us.

Edward's cell phone was tucked in the pocket of my light coat, a gift to me in the darker hours of the night.

Edward's breath shuddered slightly and then his forehead was pressed against mine. Our hands still linked, I closed my eyes against the feeling of his skin against mine. More intimate than sex, more chaste than a kiss.

We were breathing each other's air.

I wasn't sure how long we stood like that, barely touching and unwilling to let go.

Finally, inevitably, we separated.

I walked to the truck through the rain, climbing in quickly so that I wouldn't be soaked through for hours. I slammed the door behind me and once again, all was silent but the rain and the thrum of the engine. I flipped on the windshield wipers and watched for a moment more as Edward's tall body came clear through the glass, blurred, cleared. Over and over.

There was a tearing in my chest and in my head as I pulled the car slowly away, never taking my eyes off his still figure.

The house behind him was lit up and full of all the people I had come to love, to cherish and miss.

But it was his silhouette – only him – that was the last thing I saw.

All the rest was open road before me.

* * *

_Edward was beside me, his leg touching mine in the suffocating airplane air._

_I looked over at him, at his fingers slowly running across the smooth wood of the small box he held. It was a painful gesture, and it made my stomach turn to see. _

_My eyes flicked up to his face, but he was staring at the floor in front of him. _

_Not asleep, not watching me, not watching his hands._

_Just staring._

_His mind somewhere else, I allowed my eyes to fall on the box again._

_I hadn't held it. I had refused to touch it. I had forced him to keep it away from me; to keep it. He needed it more than I did. He had always needed it more. And I couldn't look at it, couldn't touch it, couldn't hold it for the past two months as we had packed up all our belongings._

_It wasn't a box._

_Everything it held, everything it didn't hold._

_My future, locked away, in those tiny ashes._

_Two months._

_It had already been two months since I had lost…him._

_I had expected to feel more pain, to feel an emptiness that was more than physical. Instead, it just felt like it had never happened. Like it hadn't been real. I had never seen him, never met him, and so he had never existed. He hadn't even had a chance to try to live. There just wasn't enough strength. His body, what I had given him, it wasn't enough. And what I had done to him? It took every chance away._

_The rest had been up to God._

_Whatever that meant._

_I looked out the airplane window and wondered what it would look like. If it would look like all the movies, glamourous and magical. All tall buildings and opportunity. Would it look like everything I imagined? Would it look like somewhere I could be happy? Would it look like the place where I could build a new life, become a new person?_

_I thought I would be more nervous._

_But what could scare me now?_

_Nothing._

_Nothing except that little box Edward held in his hands._

* * *

I had been driving for hours.

I followed the red line of the map, glancing at it only occasionally to confirm what I already knew, not needing the GPS Edward had tucked into the glove compartment. I had never had a remarkable sense of direction. I had never claimed a flawless memory. I had never felt completely confident reading a map.

But there was something inside me, calling me home.

Pulling me so hard, so strong that all I could do was accelerate and drive and drive and drive.

The beauty of the landscapes around me were remarkable, which I noted only slightly every hour or so as they changed and shifted around me. I would mark the shapes and colors in my mind before turning my eyes to the asphalt. The black tar and yellow lines seeming to be the only things in the world, the only physical realities that could hold my attention.

The sun was starting to set before I began to feel the reality of the day; the reality of what I was doing.

Where I was going.

Traveling, roads or steel tracks or swirling air, it was impossible not to remember flying across the country that day with Edward and everything I owned in the world. Some things that I didn't. Running three thousand miles away from all that had been familiar.

Because everything familiar was what was breaking me down.

It had been easier when Edward had dragged me to Colorado on that train. I could recall vividly the apprehension I had felt going to Hartsel, not really knowing where I was headed. Not understanding why I was going. Not knowing what was expected of me. Not knowing what I expected from him, from myself.

That wasn't anything new.

There had been hopelessness, the thought of misery and stagnation the only emotions I could hope to expect from him and towards him. It had been that way for four years, why would it be any different in another state? In another house? _How_ could it be any different?

I didn't know anything else.

I couldn't imagine anything different, anything that would keep me there, other than the mantra that I wouldn't be alone. Every horrible moment was survivable, because Edward would be there too. Struggling to survive. In the silence and in the hate. My life in miniature.

I didn't think Edward had ever meant to push me into his family, so hard and so fully until I became one of them. Searing into their lives with all my pain and every forgotten potential that I ever had, that they could help awaken in me.

I don't think he had tortured me in order to teach me a lesson, in order to help me earn love.

There was nothing planned about what happened in that house.

Only mistakes made by both of us, fallible and human.

My mistakes had led him into unhappiness, misery, death and anger and angst.

But his mistakes had led me to Emmett and Alice and Esme, to Rosalie in the end.

To a job and a purpose and a life.

To my freedom, which he gave to me now.

And which I had been able to give to him.

Still, I could feel my heart beginning to race, my hands gripping the wheel in the fading of the day.

As I pulled away from him, more and more, feeling every mile ticking away under the tires of that ancient truck I could feel the stretch. The strain. The…longing.

The longing for the bright white paint, cheery and protecting the rotten wood from every element.

The longing for the cold room, so warm in the summer and beautiful as a meadow.

The longing for the wrenching grace of that cracked tree grave.

I wondered if Edward would move back into the house now that I was gone.

* * *

_"I have something special planned for us at home…" he had said, with such wanting and affection._

_I didn't want to go home._

_I was flush with the city's diversions, in love with everything about New York. _

_I loved the loud and the obnoxious and the grand and the delicious. I loved the honking horns and the bustling crowds. I loved that every single night, every single minute, there was something going on that could distract me from whatever sadness or discontent I could possibly feel._

_New York numbed everything._

_Even my first wedding anniversary._

_Edward begged me to stay home with him and I had begged him right back, always knowing I would win._

_I wanted to dress up._

_I wanted to look beautiful._

_I wanted Edward to want me desperately._

_I wanted every man in the city to want me desperately._

_Men who didn't know what I was._

Barren.

_When Edward and I stepped out of our cab onto the sidewalk outside the Lincoln Center, I looked anything except barren. __Black dress hugging curves and swooping all the way down past my ankles to the grit of the street. One shoulder totally bare, the dress' most prominent decoration. Diamond chandelier earrings that cascaded as shimmering chains of waterfalls to brush my collarbone._

_I could see the sideways looks, the furtive glances, the polite admiration._

_I couldn't get enough._

_I smiled brightly as we walked into the building, posters brilliant and loud for Mozart's _Don Giovanni_ placed on every corner of the room._

_Edward introduced me to a couple he knew, the wife he worked with. They were delighted to meet me, I was delighted to meet them. I moved around the room, chatting easy, laughing and happy. I noticed my lightness as it affected Edward, small smiles tugging at his lips from time to time. His hands always trying to be on me. On my arm, my waist, the small of my back._

_When he led me to our private box, I took a moment to admire the flourished design of the building, all golds and reds and royal._

_I was smiling right up until we took our seats and the lights dimmed to nothing._

_There was a swell of music, the overture crashing through the dark and the velvet moved and swayed with the motion of the people backstage. __I tried to concentrate on the sounds, but in the darkness I found myself thinking only of Edward's hand, inches from my own on the armrest. I flipped through the program, read the beginning of the Libretto, uneasy. My thighs were tense when I moved both my hands to rest on them._

_By the time the curtains opened I had surrendered, had turned my head to look at Edward._

_He wasn't looking back at me._

_I found myself watching him carefully, watching the intent concentration on his face as the opera began to unfold before us. I wondered what he was thinking, what he was focused so hard on. I was holding the Libretto, perhaps he was trying to will himself to understand Italian, to read the singers' body language. _

_Or perhaps he was captivated by the visuals, the brilliant costumes._

_I could imagine, too, that he was thinking something else entirely. Something to do with the music he loved so much, being played at such a masterful level. _

_Maybe this opera meant something to him, maybe he understood it on a level I couldn't._

_Suddenly, Edward's eyes flicked over to mine._

_I hadn't even realized I was still facing his direction, so his eyes of my face startled me._

_I glanced away quickly, reactively, not wanting him to see me watching him._

_I couldn't act like I found him interesting._

_I couldn't act like I wanted to talk to him._

_Because, the truth was, I didn't._

_I didn't want to say anything._

_Sometimes, not often, but sometimes I just wanted to stare at him._

_But he would try to talk to me, knowing I didn't want to, and not caring._

_Because he thought we _should_._

_I just wanted to stare at him and he wouldn't let me._

_I asked myself, not for the first time, why I had forced him to bring me here, why I had thought it was a good idea if the two of us went out together. Why I had married him and let him come with me to New York. Why I had let him bring that little box and let him sit beside me._

_I didn't love him, I didn't want him._

_Why couldn't I have just told him to leave me alone? Why couldn't I have just told him t__hat I wanted to go to the opera by myself, anniversary or not?_

_A year ago, I might have._

_But all that bitterness was gone._

_And as much as I resented him, I wanted him with me._

_The only person in the world I could make sure was more miserable than I was._

* * *

It wasn't until 2:30 in the morning that I finally admitted to myself that had to stop and rest for a few hours.

I hadn't realized until my eyes grew heavy just how far I had travelled, just how far I was from the safety of the place I had come from. How deep into the dark and the uncertain I had propelled myself.

I knew from the signs that I was somewhere in southern Idaho, but I couldn't recall the name of the town.

Still near Utah.

I pulled into the nearly empty lot of a small motel, in an undoubtedly small town.

Not unlike Hartsel and nothing like Hartsel.

Because that town was nothing without the people who lived in it.

People I had left behind, maybe forever.

I opened the door and pulled myself out of the truck, my legs feeling a little shaky and tired from the long stretch of road I had just covered. I glanced around and up at the flickering lights that read _Vacancy_. It wasn't much of a motel, it looked to be a less than desirable place to spend the night, but I was sure it would be cheap and I didn't have much money.

Not with Mike promising to send me my final paycheck, not with the way my truck swallowed gas by the gallon.

Not wanting to use Edward's card.

If I made it to Forks safely, I would cut it up.

A bell rang as I walked through the door that boasted a small sign that read "check-in".

There was a thin man sitting at the counter who looked up when he heard me enter. He had greased blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that dragged lazily over me, appraising as a long grin slicked over his features.

I cleared my throat, shifting from foot to foot before I ground out, "Just a single."

Looking me over once more I saw his tongue dart onto his top lip momentarily before he glanced around my shoulder, making sure I was actually alone. My truck silent and hulking, clearly the only car parked in front.

"That'll get awful lonely, won't it?" he drawled, his voice dripping smooth and suggestive.

I shuddered slightly as he leaned forward, his hand over the key as he slid it along the surface of the counter towards me.

"No," I said quickly.

At my curt reply, a wide smile burst across his face, his teeth sharp and pointed yellow. Eyebrows raised, he took his hand off the key, lifting his other as well in a gesture of flirtatious surrender. Then he was crossing his arms, leaning back comfortably, smugly.

"You just let me know if you need anything," he teased with a wink.

I grabbed the key quickly and with a nod I turned around and strode out of the door as calmly as I could. I opened my truck door, snatched my small bag off the floor, and locked the door behind me. Then I made it a point to take my time looking for door number 127, walking slowly and with a feigned confidence that I couldn't feel.

It took me three tries to unlock the door, my fingers trembling as I tried to fit the key into the lock. When at last the door fell open, I stepped inside quickly, swinging my bag to my feet and closing the door at my back. For a moment I leaned against the cool beige painted metal, trying to calm myself.

I felt so unsafe, so uncertain.

I only had one thought in that moment: _I wish Edward was here._

I thought about his skin, turning brown and hard from a summer spent in the sun with me. I thought about his arms, growing strong and sinewy as he worked on the house, as they wrapped around me in comfort. I thought about his smile, the way it was so rare and so exciting and the way it would light up his entire face.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing away from the door. I turned, flipped the deadbolt and hooked the chain before squaring my shoulders with determination.

I could do this on my own.

Bruised arms, screaming into a snowy night, divorce papers sealed with a kiss and Edward had not been so comforting to me once.

I picked up my bag and placed it on the small bed, flicking on the light on the dresser. I unzipped it, hands still shaking slightly, and immediately found my fingers wrapped around the small leather book that had come to mean my strength.

Or my greatest weakness.

I sat down slowly as I flipped through the pages, landing on one I had not read.

_Because I do not hope to turn again / Because I do not hope / Because I do not hope to turn…_

I sucked in a breath, deep and ragged. The poem was T.S. Eliot and I knew it well enough that I didn't have to look at the date beneath it. Reading the first staggering lines, all darkness and despair, I knew it could only have been right after we had lost our child.

_Or any of the following months_, I admitted to myself reluctantly.

Had there been any happiness after that?

Ever?

_Because these wings are no longer wings to fly / But merely vans to beat the air / The air which is now so thoroughly small and dry / Smaller and dryer than the will / Teach us to care and not to care / Teach us to sit still._

I closed the book and, again, my eyes.

I took a deep breath and simply sat, finding comfort in the calm that was descending upon me. Waves of exhaustion rolling behind my eyelids. The tense release in poetry, the aching commiseration and I didn't feel so alone.

I had Eliot.

And Edward.

Placing the book down on the nightstand, I reached across to my bag. I dug around inside for a moment until my hands landed on something that felt comfortable to sleep in. Pulling out a flannel shirt, I heard a soft thump as something hard, something else, hit the floor quietly.

A book.

I slowly bent to pick it up.

_Wuthering Heights_.

For some reason, the title, the copy startled me.

It was from the library in Hartsel, it had been the book I had started to read it the night the power went out in the cabin. I had fallen asleep holding it, I had dropped it on the floor.

Edward must have thought I was still reading it.

Or that I had liked it, wanted it.

Part of me was surprised he even remembered what book it was.

But only part of me.

Of course he remembered.

* * *

_"I got tickets to the opera," Edward said with a smile as he strode into the room. "I thought maybe you'd want to go. Make a tradition out of it?"_

_I looked up at him from the couch, my legs tucked beneath me in shorts, my hair matted and unwashed from a day spent idle._

_Our second anniversary had come unremarkably and slow._

_I had only remembered when Edward whispered it in my ear this morning with a kiss on my neck. I had smiled, I had touched his face lightly, and then I had gotten out of our bed and gone downstairs to make breakfast._

_"Can we just stay in?" I asked him, my voice quiet and too pathetic._

_Edward blinked at me for a moment, as if unsure he had actually heard me._

_"You want to…stay in?"_

_After a year of endless parties, endless social events, endless flutes of champagne, something in me – deep down – felt so tired. Going out every night had taken its toll, on something in me that I couldn't explain. I was careful, though, to show none of that to Edward. No exhaustion, no fatigue. Just wearing enthusiasm. He had stopped coming with me sometimes. _

_Just as I had wanted._

_I found that it didn't make anything better to go alone._

_I still hated every second of it._

_So maybe I would return to the distractions tomorrow. _

_After all, it had to be better than this numb fatigue I could feel in every inch of my skin, my bones._

_But tonight, I didn't have it in me._

_"Is that alright?" I asked, forcing myself to pay attention to Edward's expression. I could see surprise, but any other emotion was carefully concealed. Was it disappointment? Relief? Or was it the apathy he showed to me plainly?_

_I thought maybe, if he really wanted to, I would go out for him._

_To make him happy._

_The idea left me feeling even more exhausted, empty._

_"Of course," Edward agreed with a nod. _

_I never had to make an effort with him, never had to be a fake wife, because he always agreed. _

_To anything, to everything._

_Then, turning around as he walked from the room, "I just have to…make some calls."_

_Cancel reservations, sell tickets, apologize to people._

_Nothing that had ever touched me._

_I couldn't be certain, but I thought I saw the faintest flash of something like hope in his eyes._

_For his sake, I wanted to have imagined it._

_Didn't he know I was hopeless?_

_After several minutes, I heard him step back into the room._

_"Are you feeling okay?" he queried._

_I looked up at him, noticing that he had changed from his suit and was now wearing loose sleep pants and an old shirt. I could see the bones of his arms and chest beneath the fabric, prominent on his thin frame. My eyes dropped to my hands._

_"Yes," I assured him quietly. Then smiling small up at him, "Just tired."_

_"Is there anything…?" he began._

_"No."_

_Edward took another step towards me, then another, until he was standing right in front of the couch, looking down at me._

_"Do you want me to make you dinner?" he offered gently._

_I considered for a moment.__Then, "A drink?"_

_I couldn't eat._

_With a nod, Edward stepped out of the room again, this time towards the kitchen._

_I heard the clink of ice in the glass, heard the pour and fizz and I felt my stomach tensing and my mouth watering._

_He returned with only one drink and handed me the cold glass carefully, our fingers barely touching. I realized as I took a sip, as I watched him straighten and stand awkwardly before me like a trained servant, that he had not made one for himself because he expected to be dismissed._

_For some reason, that realization made my stomach roll._

_"Will you just sit with me a while?" I invited, my voice quiet and my body shifting slightly so that there was room on the couch for him._

_Edward blinked again._

_Another surprise._

_He lowered himself to the opposite side of the couch warily, as if he expected me to suddenly kick out or yell or throw the glass at his head. Something that would be more normal behavior than my sitting beside him, bare legged and sipping gin contemplatively._

_Edward's eyes didn't leave me for a long time._

_"Don't look at me." I meant to snap the words, to give him what he expected. They came out as a whispered plea. I found myself thinking, once again, how pathetic I sounded._

_How vulnerable._

_Edward gave a quick nod and stood. He walked across the room to the large bookshelf, scanning the spines for a moment before plucking one out of the wall of literature. Without a word or a second glance at me, he returned to his place on the couch and flipped the book open, beginning to read._

_I had watched him sharply, seen the title of the book, when he had walked back to his place a my side._

_It was my turn to be surprised._

_"Is that yours?" I wanted to know._

_Edward looked up at me questioningly until I nodded slightly towards the novel he was holding._

_The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Yes."_

_"Have you ever read it?"_

_"Once, a long time ago," Edward replied, his eyes leaving mine and falling back to the page before him._

_I wondered if that meant he had read it for school, that he had been forced. He wasn't ever big on literature. I doubted he would have picked up a classic romance novel like _Wuthering Heights_ on his own. _

_Then again, I didn't really know what he would do on his own._

_I didn't really know him._

_I sighed after a long moment, thinking of my own time in school._

_How much I had loved words._

_How naively and innocently I had believed in their power, and their beauty._

_"I don't think I've ever made it all the way through," I admitted, ruefully smiling at nothing, at no one._

_"Really?" Edward lifted his gaze once more, his expression flush with curiosity. "What stopped you?"_

_He was looking at me like I was the most mysterious, most fascinating person in the world._

_He was such a fool._

_"I'm not sure," I said with a shrug, nonchalant. "I probably just got tired of the fucked up way the poor people talk."_

_Edward's face broke into a small smile. "Understandable," he agreed, returning once more to the story._

_Leaving me alone outside of it. _

_Alone on that couch even though we were so close to each other. Even though all I had to do was extend my leg just an inch and my foot would be resting against his thigh. There were still miles between us, and walls too tall to scale._

_I couldn't even imagine trying to read that book now, couldn't imagine wanting to make it to the end of the story. _

_Sometimes it was better not to know any of it._

_Love a girl and leave her._

_Love a boy and marry someone else._

_Love someone who would never love you back._

_Love the wrong person and destroy the world._

* * *

I parked on the side of the road right in front of the Washington State Line and called the hospital from Edward's phone.

The sky was covered with always constant clouds, but it wasn't cold. Still, holding the phone to my ear, my whole body was shivering, teeth chattering as I waited for an answer.

I talked to a nurse, who gave me a doctor.

I talked to a doctor, who gave me an update.

My father was stable and I breathed out in a rush of emotion.

My father wasn't talking yet and my entire body tensed.

My father would most likely be paralyzed for the rest of his life and I gagged.

Blood pumping through my ears and weakening my limbs.

Quickly telling the doctor I would be there in a few hours, pleading with him to call if there was any change, I hung up the phone.

Immediately I fell to my knees on the side of the road, throwing up what little I had eaten for breakfast.

The taste was sour in the back of my throat, the sick heaving from me until there was nothing left.

On shaky legs I straightened my body, silently cursing my own weakness.

My hand slid over the smooth, dirty metal of my truck's hood, searching for stability.

There was panic, cold and coursing just as the heaviness of dread settled in the pit of my stomach.

I didn't know if I could do this.

I wanted to help my father, I wanted to be there for him, but I didn't know what I could possibly do. Before I had gone to Hartsel, I would have simply stood next to his bed, told him hopeful and empty words of encouragement, and been completely and utterly without use.

And that hadn't changed.

I had felt as if I had grown so much in the months I had stayed in Colorado with Edward, learned so much about myself and the world around me.

And yet it only took one thing, one flash of a moment, to bring me back down to zero.

I wasn't good at surviving crashes.

Because it felt like every moment of my life was crashing all together, dragging me back to Forks in order to destroy me. To destroy any happiness that I had found, had been trying to find. The panic of losing my father, of losing my family, of losing Edward, of losing what little was left to me all culminating in this one journey, this one anxious homecoming.

I wanted so badly, with every single fiber, to turn around and run.

To drive and drive and drive until I was back in Hartsel.

Back with everyone who made me strong.

Wrapped in Edward's arms.

I took a deep breath.

Then another.

I tried to remember my conversation with Jasper, how calm I had felt talking to him. That strange feeling I had barely seen, when saying my farewell. The inexplicable clarity of realizing that the world would keep moving, with or without me. That there were choices, but there were also moments that were inevitable.

Inevitable, he had said, that Edward would find me.

I thought of every moment of epiphany I had borne, suffered, and celebrated for nearly a year in that ranch house. I knew that every moment I had fought against Edward and his family and myself, would never be enough in the end.

I had to clean Edward's room.

I had to fall from Santana's back.

I had to hold divorce papers.

I had to grieve at my son's grave.

And now...I had to face the rest of it.

My father.

My mother.

_Jacob..._

The phone call from the hospital had triggered a resurgence of feeling. Positive or negative was irrelevant. I had confided only in Jasper and Alice what I feared to experience. Told them in the only way I could think to describe it, lying dormant for months and flaring to life suddenly at the thought of returning home.

I didn't know what I felt when I thought of seeing Jacob again.

Only that it was powerful and building, slow and to consume.

I had been reminded of him sometimes in Hartsel, in the beginning. In Emmett's smile or Alice's jokes or in the trees and rivers and fields of the land. His image had faded, though. There were times when I thought I was free of him, that I wouldn't have to think of him anymore. The memories called to the surface were always focused around Edward, around what I had done to him in the name of all consuming, destructive love.

Now, as I moved steadily closer towards Forks, I could feel it beckoning.

Fate unfurling out of itself, a wave on the ocean that looked like time moving forward.

I hated that I had no choice here.

He would want to be there for Charlie.

He might want to be there for me.

And I wanted so badly not to care.

I wanted to feel only concern for my father, determination to help him, to rebuild our relationship and to help him rebuild his life, right alongside me as I rebuilt mine. I wanted to feel only longing for my family left in Hartsel, planning and plotting when I could return to see them again. I wanted to feel only love for Edward, the person in my life who deserved it more than anyone else.

Balling my hands into fists, I slammed them against the hood as I let out a grunt of frustration. I stepped back over to the door and yanked it open, ignoring the cars that would roar past from time to time.

Sliding into the seat, I grabbed the leather book from the glove compartment.

The voice that comforted me.

The truth bended into rhyme.

Our third anniversary, Edward had jotted down a short poem by Blake.

His hand had been sloppy, as if he had been rushing.

_O Rose thou art sick / the invisible worm / that flies in the night / in the howling storm / Has found out thy bed / of crimson joy / and his dark secret love / does thy life destroy_

I snapped the book shut again and tossed it to the floor behind me, tension coursing through me instead of relief.

Blake's words, as Edward had written them, didn't soothe me or sadden me or fill me with longing as they usually did.

I felt nothing that I wanted to.

I felt like Schrodinger's cat in a box.

Neither alive nor dead, neither ego nor id, particle nor wave, oscillating, between states.

Between being one thing and becoming another.

My hands were clenched on the wheel, screaming for me to run.

I wasn't sure it was possible to really change.

* * *

_The gin felt so delightfully warm running down my throat into the very pit of me. _

_I placed the glass back down on the varnished wood of the bar and let my fingers linger on the cold condensation that coated the outside of the glass._

_I liked the way it felt._

_I liked the way the man's eyes felt as he looked at me from across the bar._

_I glanced over at him with a small smile, looking him up and down as he looked at me. He had dark skin and dark hair, a lot like Jacob's. His face didn't light up the same way, when he smiled, but I couldn't really recall Jake's smile all that clearly. It had been years since I had seen him._

_He was a poor substitute._

_But his chest was wide and strong, his arms muscled, so I accepted with a smile when he sent the bartender over with another gin and tonic._

_I wouldn't touch him, but I would drink with him if he wanted._

_Kissing strangers had gotten me into too much trouble before._

_And I lived to drink._

_It was the only thing I looked forward to anymore, coming to this bar. The thing that made me get up in the morning. I remembered back when I had something driving me, some calling I thought I would find in school or in my job or in my marriage or in Manhattan. Something to drive me from within._

_I found this bar._

_I took a sip from my fresh drink and the man on the other side of the bar stood up, still smiling, to walk towards me. Swaggering and confident._

_Before he reached me I felt a hand close over my arm, spinning me gently around on my stool._

_Surprised and off balance, I squealed and reached out with both hands as I turned._

_I felt the familiarity of the fingers, of the palms, that gripped against my bicep and my waist to steady me. I knew the bones and sinewy muscle of the chest that my hands landed up against, pressing stable. I knew the soft green eyes that looked down at me, unreadable and unruffled._

_"What are you doing here?" I asked loudly, my face breaking into a smirk as I was torn between annoyance, amusement, and unfettered curiosity._

_Edward never came here._

_"Taking you home," he said, his voice flat as he pulled me towards him, trying to lift me from my seat._

_I resisted, pushing him back, my irritation flaring._

_"You're not taking me anywhere," I snapped back._

_"This guy bothering you?"_

_We both turned at the same time to see the man from across the bar, standing beside us, his dark eyes trained on Edward with hostility. I could see him posturing slightly, defensively and not an ounce of chivalry._

I saw her first.

_Edward took his hands off me, my own hands sliding from his chest as he stepped forward, blocking me with his body. I saw his eyes sparking suddenly with something like anger._

_More emotion than I had seen from him in months._

_"I'm her fucking husband." He practically snarled the words._

_I could see the other man's eyebrow rise, not sure if he believed it and not sure if he really cared. _

_I couldn't help smiling, feeling complimented that the man had trouble believing that someone like me would marry someone liked Edward._

_The difference between us was still a mile wide._

_For some reason, the thought made my interest and amusement at the situation return._

_"It's okay," I leaned to the side so I could made eye contact with the other man, smiling at him like a conspirator and nodding, "He's my fucking husband."_

_Both eyebrows shot up this time._

_The man inclined his head slightly towards Edward, _my mistake_, and turned to walk away after shooting me a suggestive wink, _anytime you want_._

_Edward turned back to me then, the fire in his eyes dying out immediately._

_"Bella, please come with me." His voice sounded tired._

_"Since you asked so nicely," I grinned, hopping off the stool._

_I supposed he had earned my cooperation by coming out of the brownstone for an evening, even if he had only come out to ruin mine._

_As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, I linked my arm through Edwards and pressed my side up against his tightly. He turned to look down at me for just a moment, his eyes flicking to my hand wrapped around his forearm as if he could feel my skin through his coat._

_Then he was watching the street as he lead me across._

_"You came looking for me," I commented, my voice sounding sweet and flattered._

_I doubted he could hear the condecension._

_When had he ever?_

_"Of course I did," he replied, as if I should have expected it. His voice was quiet and still so even. _

_I felt a sigh of exasperated boredom begging to escape. _

_Even when he was coming to rescue me from booze and unseemly men, he didn't even try to sound interested._

_"Why?" I wanted to know, cocking my head to one side._

_He shrugged. "You said you'd be home early tonight."_

_I tried to recall when I may have said such a thing, made such a promise. It wasn't this morning, I hadn't seen him all day. I don't think I had seen him the night before, either._

_"Did I?"_

_Edward glanced down at me again._

_The same expression on his face, the same look every time our eyes met in a restaurant, in a museum, in the house, in our room, in our bed._

_When he looked at me, it was like he wasn't seeing me._

_I didn't know what that meant, and I hadn't wondered much until now. Until he pulled me out of the bar and back to our house, every action saying that he cared and every look saying that he didn't. There was something I was missing, I was sure._

_I didn't realize what it was until the next morning._

_Hungover and pained and looking at a single long-stemmed rose on our nightstand and I remembered that last night we had been married for three years._

* * *

I shut down the truck's engine with shaking hands.

All around me and staring through the glass of my windows was Forks, Washington.

The small town - clouded and drizzling, everything tinted green and blue and grey - where I used to live.

My heart was beating so hard, thundering through my entire body, trying to find the strength to open the door and step out. To let all the sounds and smells and rain come in. The familiarity was cracking through my strength, tearing and ripping into me, furious.

I was such a coward.

Not for the first time, I wondered what Edward had seen in me.

When he first met me and now, when I had left.

He had thought I was strong enough to do this on my own.

Worse, he had made me believe that I was.

Now, so far from him, I knew we had both been wrong.

As I locked the truck and stepped towards the only bar in Forks - a whole town away from the hospital - I couldn't figure out why Edward wouldn't ever, ever let me go. Why every time I pushed against him, thinking I was the problem, Edward had pushed back with another exclamation point.

He should have left me that night I forgot our third anniversary.

I knew he had considered it.

He could have saved himself.

A year from that night, our fourth anniversary, was the night I saw Jacob again for the first time since I had left Washington. In that same bar, eyes locked, and I knew whatever lovely, sickening romantic surprise Edward had for me at home would go unanswered, unopened, unexperienced.

I slid onto a stool and placed my hand lightly down on the counter.

"A gin and tonic, please."

Because Wuthering Heights wasn't just some romance novel. Because it was only a ridiculous, gothic melodrama until it wasn't. Until I read the words, really _read_ them, and realized that it's actually the oldest story in the world.

The story I'd been fighting against, and fighting to perpetuate, my whole life.

_I am the Grange and you are the Heights and you must never own me, no matter if it tears my body and soul apart in the process._

My fingers ran along the smooth glass, collecting the cold wet.

I wasn't sure it was possible to change.


	43. The Drink

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Drink**

I felt like I was falling.

Not falling.

_Sinking._

Sitting on the hard wood of a stool, elbows against the hard wood of the bar. Fingers tracing wet patterns until they dried into the grain. I felt as though I was descending, not from any lofty height I had achieved over the past months, but back into the darkest, loathed parts myself. Away from every human connection I had made, had forged, had forced.

It was such a strange feeling, surreal, to be back in this town. To return to a place I never had any intention of returning to; a place I had dreamed about for years. After the alien beauty and harsh of Colorado, to return to this rain and green. Everything new I had come to know, left behind for everything old that I used love.

When I was a child, I had truly loved it here. The trees, the ocean, the people smiling at me and knowing me. I had once walked through the streets of this town, part of a family as large as the Pacific Northwest.

I still knew every single person sitting in the bar with me.

I didn't know all their names, I couldn't recall every interaction we'd ever had. Some were vague memories, some were just faces, some were just names, some were just hints. All of them familiar.

I could feel them watching me and I wasn't sure if it was because they recognized me or because they didn't.

Sometimes I imagined that I looked so different.

How could a person live their life, bear all their scars, and still look like they did when they were young? When they were happy? It seemed impossible that I could still look like the Bella Swan who had lived among them for so long, vibrant and innocent and in love.

I wasn't a shadow of that girl.

So even if they did recognize me, no one approached.

The burning gazes of curiosity, fascination, gossip pressing up against me were my only welcome. Their silence surrounded me like a hostile question. _Why did you come back?_

Forks was still such a small town.

My breaths were low and steady, my heart beating regular solid. My hand remained frozen flat against the smooth bar, next to a glass of oblivion.

_You want to go down?_

I could hear Edward's words pounding through my head, see his eyes daring me to destroy everything once more.

But he wasn't here now.

I wanted him, but I couldn't ask him to come with me.

I couldn't ask, knowing that he would whether he wanted to or not. He would, and I would never know if it was out of guilt or pity or empathy or love. Out of obligation. Out of duty. Out of morality.

If I made that request, he wouldn't even see a choice.

He never had seen his options when it came to me.

We were the same in that way.

Where I had met Edward. Where I had kissed him. Where I had given him the first taste of what a life with me was like, as I walked away from him laughing.

And the accelerated fast spiral of choices he gave back to me.

Live up to his ideal of life and kindness, where I would constantly get scared and damage myself in pursuit of a perfection that wasn't in me. Or drag my life, his life, down to a manageable place and end up constantly apologizing for myself.

_Let's throw it all away. Every single moment, every tiny bit of progress we've made, our lives, our health…each other._

I knew when he said that, some part of him had wanted it. The part that was afraid of me. The part that was afraid of what I would be capable of if I regained my strength. If I realized I had any strength at all.

Not that any of that mattered now.

I'd already lost him, hadn't I?

He didn't love me anymore.

He had nothing left to be afraid of.

And I wasn't sure that I had anything left to lose.

There was no strength in me.

There was only pain, like a dull ache cracking through every inch of my chest, at the thought of him.

My hand tightened around the glass for a moment, the muscles in my arm tensed as if to lift the saving alcohol to my lips.

Poised to strike, I froze and trembled.

"Bella?" I heard my named called softly, all shock an uncertainty. "Bella Swan?"

Slowly, so slowly, I turned my head into the familiar treble that had shaped my name. A voice so clear in my memory, so unforgettable, so painfully real that I felt a jolt of fear as I lifted my eyes. Not surprised to see who it was, afraid because I already knew.

She stood a careful distance from my side, brown eyes blinking and wondering.

"Angela." I breathed, my voice steady and subdued, careful to say her name easy and calm. Like I had been expecting her, like I was always expecting her.

It was a lie.

I never thought I would see her again.

Never thought of her much at all.

Angela Weber. The caramel skinned beauty, the shy sweet best friend. The girl who I had grown up with. The girl who I had learned Forks with. The girl who I had shared everything with.

The girl who had been the first to taste my cruelty.

My forgotten victim, the one that never seemed important in the scheme of things. Lovers and children, tortured husbands and families. No one ever laments the best friend, the small piece of childhood left unattended. What could those friendships matter? Formed so young, becoming so irrelevant with growth and experience.

And here she stood before me.

Fate.

I looked at her and I felt myself weaken to nothing.

In fear, in self-loathing, in anguish and in her, my reckoning.

She was looking at me with surprise, and without malice. She was stone and ice, masking almost perfectly her feelings. She wasn't hostile, never angry, but she was guarded. She had changed, just as I had changed. No hint of that young girl I knew, so quiet lovely and understanding. The years had hardened her in whatever way they would.

And in her eyes I could see that I, too, had hardened her.

"It _is_ you," she said, wonder-laced tone. Her brows were raised in expectation, her mouth forming a frown. I could see her, torn, trying to decide how she should feel about my sudden appearance.

Wondering, perhaps, if I was the same girl who had left her standing on the black tar driveway all those years ago. Screaming in her face, calling her learned names, blaming her for everything wrong. I was a lifetime of unreturned love reveling in her tears. I had felt such pleasure in her weakening, in her weeping. The proof of her love for me, stomped under foot.

"Yeah." I nodded, letting my eyes drop down to my hand on the bar.

Then over to her hands as they snaked onto the wood beside me. I could hear her sitting on the stool to my left, settling. Gathering her strength for the confrontation of years, a silent action that I had become so familiar with.

"It's been a while." Her voice had lost its surprise, had become resigned.

Determined.

I could hear so clearly in her echoes of my own voice, my own life. She was facing her demons right now, as I had done so many times. As I had seen so many others do. Hers was the tone, the expression, the poise of a warrior.

And I was her demon.

I wondered if there was a person alive, a person I cared about before Colorado, who didn't see me that way.

Renee's unwanted child.

Jacob's unwanted lover.

Edward's unwanted wife.

"It has." I was unsure what to say, what she wanted me to say.

I _had _been a long time.

Too long.

I wasn't prepared for this apology. Every other, I knew by heart. Every other had trailed and dragged through my head every day, over and over and obsession, traced back to every mistake.

But I had been so young when I knew Angela.

I had been so angry.

I never wanted to remember her.

Now that I was back, I had no choice. She was watching me with unfiltered curiosity and I kept waiting to see her face change, her body move, her anger flare. I kept expecting that any moment would be the one where she recalled how harsh I had been. I thought surely in a minute she would call to mind everything I had yelled at her. Not things that should every be forgotten.

When I looked back up to her face, though, I knew I was waiting in vain.

Time had softened every blow, healed every wound. She had moved, shifted, changed and in the end perhaps I wasn't important enough to her to really hurt her. Just as she hadn't been important enough to feel guilty about.

Until now, until this moment.

My guilt was in this bar.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me at last.

And there it was.

The silent question I was sure was in everyone's mind.

She wanted to know why I had come back to haunt her, to haunt them all. Why I had taken from them a sweet, happy child and had returned with only a shell, a ruined hollow of similar shape. Why I had sacrificed that girl on an altar to the person I had become and why I had returned to show them.

_Why did you come back?_

But I had a reason.

And it wasn't about Angela, the girl who had meant everything to me when I was so young, when everything was so simple.

And it certainly wasn't about the rest of them. Wasn't about this town, my home.

It was the only reason left in the world that meant anything to me.

"My dad." I looked at her when I said it, my voice was firm and unafraid.

I had to be here.

I saw something flash in Angela's eyes, just for a moment. It was a slight softening, a pang of the familiar that hit me harder than I ever thought it could.

Because she loved him.

Like everyone else in this town, she loved Charlie Swan.

A man I hardly knew.

"Of course." Her voice was quieter. "How is he?"

The way she asked the question, the reverence on her face as she waited for my answer, told me that she wasn't inquiring casually.

"You know what happened?"

Angela shrugged, a rueful smile touching the corners of her mouth.

"Forks," she stated simply, by way of explanation.

Forks was still such a small town.

I nodded my head once, exhaled. "Yeah."

Slowly, so carefully, Angela's hand reached out and brushed softly against the skin of my arm and held. I looked down at the feathery contact, just barely there and warm, and felt my jaw clench reflexively.

Angela waited without saying a word, her eyes never leaving my face.

I shivered slightly, feeling my entire body lock up and shut down. I felt my fear vanish, my guilt and my regrets, in the favor of apathy. In the gift of unfeeling. Self-preservation taking over, defensive and tearless.

At last I spoke.

My voice was low and cold, detached as I felt ice crawling through my veins. I mimicked the words the doctor had spoken to me over the phone, almost verbatim. I told her that he was awake, that he was speaking and alert, that he wouldn't walk for the rest of his life. My mouth moved, my lips worked, enunciating and clear. Still, I felt like I was telling her nothing. Angela would nod, I would tell her more, and none of it meant a thing.

If she noticed how clinical my words were, how impersonal, she gave no indication. She smiled with sympathy, with encouragement – always muted and on guard – and said nothing.

I didn't mention how my spirits were, how his were. I didn't talk about what we wished, what we wanted, what we planned, what we hoped.

I had no hopes.

That's why I was sitting in this bar.

"Are you doing alright?" Angela wanted to know, her question careful and offering.

"Yes, I'm fine," I said reflexively. "Thank you."

I met her gaze then, and blinked slightly in quiet alarm.

I had expected her to inquire, to feel sympathy, to wonder and be concerned over my father. I expected any socially correct greeting and condolence, every appropriate response. Angela had always been so kind, so compassionate polite, and I knew I no longer deserved either from her.

I didn't know her anymore. And she didn't know me.

Still, she looked at me, eyebrows crushing together in furrowed disbelief. "Really?"

I opened my mouth to emptily reassure her, then closed it again before the words could escape; before they could trap me in a lie.

Alice had taught me about trust.

_Lay it all down, and you're free._

I spent my whole life hiding so that nobody would see that girl, the hurt and cruel dangerous side to me. In so many ways, I had spent my whole life telling people how my dad was doing, pretending I knew, so no one would know that I was too fucked up and scared to see him myself.

Marrying a man who loved me so everyone would believe I was worthy of love, without every really believing it myself.

I would show my teeth so often, just so the film stayed on the projector, so the burlesque would keep going, so everybody would believe the story about my perfect life.

I looked at Angela and I could tell, somehow, for some reason, she didn't believe it for a moment. She watched me sit here, fighting and warring and waiting in silent torture, and she knew.

She knew before any of the masks, any of the lies, and she knew what lay beyond.

Even if I had forgotten, she had seen behind the curtain.

I swallowed and inhaled, gasped. "I haven't seen him yet."

I turned away from Angela quickly, but not before seeing her expression shift to one of confusion, misunderstanding.

"Who?"

She didn't get it.

Unimaginable.

I took a deep breath and leveled my gaze at her, bracing. "Charlie."

She didn't miss a beat.

"Why not?" Her question was so unassuming, just a question. She asked it without the layers and layers I wanted to heap on it. All the implications and excuses I wanted to equate with those two little words, she did without.

The simple request for truth.

"I just got back into town…just now," I told her, honesty making my voice shake. I dropped my eyes once more and watched my own finger as it traced along the glass once more. Lovingly, or longingly. "It was so much easier to come here."

I felt her hand drop away from my arm, as quietly and gently as it had first touched. She was nodding slowly and small, her eyes drifting as she considered. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, in the same way it had always been when she was a kid, when she was thinking. Wondering.

I knew immediately how must have seemed to her, the trepidation in her eyes.

"I'm not an alcoholic," I said quickly, even though my voice was quiet. Then, after a pause, "Maybe I am. But I haven't…"

I wanted to tell her I didn't drink often anymore. I wanted to tell her that I didn't slur or stumble or sleep around. I wanted to tell her that I only drank when I felt scared or weak or vulnerable. That I used alcohol to make everything soft in me harden. To make me someone who could handle her emotions, her actions.

But maybe that was what an alcoholic was.

Dependent and frightened.

Angela was looking me, her expression still far away, shaking her head. "You don't have to convince me of anything."

I nodded, knowing. "I want to."

Angela let out a small sigh, her mouth tightening slightly as she granted me the tiniest smile. Her eyes still looked defensive through the empathy.

"Right."

I knew what she meant.

We weren't friends. She didn't know me. I didn't owe her anything. And she didn't owe anything to me. The thought stuck in my head like the thorn, pricking uncomfortable but lodged true.

I hated it.

I hated that she didn't care about me and I hated that I wanted her to, even though I had no right. I hated that I had no right. I hated that I didn't know her, because the way she was listening to me now, the way she was looking at me, was more than I ever deserved. I hated that she was as understanding and full of love as Esme or Alice, but as staunch and protective as Rosalie or Edward. I hated that I couldn't touch her, I hated that she no longer wanted to touch me.

I hated what I had done to her.

I hated that she didn't know.

So I told her.

"What I said to you when we were kids, all those things I said…" I finally managed, not knowing how to apologize for something so long ago. Like apologizing for another person. I didn't think I could, my words wavering and unsteady rushed. Instead I finished simply, "It was inexcusable."

And it had been.

Her only mistake had been being the closest to me when my mother left.

She bore every lash, every angry hateful cry of a spurned teenager, every blow that should have landed on someone with twice her strength and half her kindness.

She knew, better than anyone, how far I would go to hurt the people who loved me.

Better than anyone, except for Edward.

How had I ever let myself forget?

She was watching me carefully, considering my admission for a moment before bobbing her head once. "Yes."

It felt like a kick to the chest, the way all the air seemed to rush from my lungs in one gasping breath.

Her eyes were dull and impassive, so far from the angry spiteful green of Edward's glare when he, too, had refused to forgive me.

"Angela…" I felt myself say her name, pleading.

"What?" Her eyebrows raised lazily, her voice so calm and level. "What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?"

"No, I just…"

"I've never hated anyone so much as I hated you back then," she said with a shrug. I saw the smallest spark of something in her eyes, just for a moment, before it was gone. "You taught me the meaning of the word. You were the first person to break my heart."

I didn't understand.

I couldn't comprehend how she could sit next to me and say these things. How, if what she said was true – and there was no doubt in my mind that it was – how she could still look at me with sympathy for my father, for my situation. How she could want to know if I was alright, if I needed her support, if I needed her help.

And then she shrugged again and smiled.

"I got over it."

The words so simple, the action so effortless.

The one thing I had never been able to do, with anything, with anyone in my life.

_Let go._

I felt like I was falling.

And the price I paid for being in free fall was that everyone could see it.

Every person from my past, Angela and everyone else remembered or not, would watch. They would see me in this place, hiding from my life, too scared to move.

There were benefits to it, though. Their eyes made it all feel so real. It felt good, even as it hurt, because there was a certain kind of grace in everything looking exactly like it really was.

Edward had told me once before that everything I felt, every dark twist inside me, took place behind closed doors.

The calm that washed over me was unprecedented, unexpected.

I was no longer that towering paradigm of repentance and hope and forgiveness that Edward had wanted me so badly to be; that I had wanted so badly to be true.

I was just a girl in a bar.

Right back where it had all started.

"It's not too late," Angela said quietly, reminding me that perhaps this was where it started, but it didn't have to end in this place. I looked over to her and saw only encouragement. "You can still go to him."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

"I'm not sure I can," I whispered.

"Why?"

I hesitated for a moment. Then, "I'm not…strong enough to do this."

To my surprise, Angela chuckled, shaking her head like I was making some sort of joke. I felt my mouth drop open slightly at the very last reaction I expected from her, laughter light and quiet, but sincere.

"What's funny?" I ask blankly, confused and hurt to numb.

"It's just so strange to hear you say that," she clarified, a small smile still lingering on her lips. "The person sitting in front of me trying to escape, trying to hide in a bar." The she leaned forward, my stomach clenching, as she whispered, "The person who hasn't touched a drop."

I looked down, following her gaze my untouched glass of gin. The drink was blurry and softened and I realized that my eyes had filled with tears, the revelation of Angela's laughter causing one to finally slide down my cheek.

The wet tickled my skin as I looked back at the young woman watching me, the look on her face proud without ownership. Respectful and forgiving. Forgetting.

"I've missed you, Angela."

"Bella..." Her hand reached out to me again as her voice trailed off, unsure. This time it landed on my shoulder, impersonal comfort. Contact and distance, close and insurmountable.

The pang of regret I felt in the moment was so sharp, I couldn't speak.

"I'm so scared," I admitted at last.

"That's okay," Angela replied, her hand tightening slightly. "You're allowed."

I took a deep breath, taking it in like I could draw courage from the air, into my lungs, into my blood.

I hadn't been wrong.

I _was_ back at the beginning.

Everything had started from this town, had rippled out from these people. I was so consumed with how difficult it was going to be that I had forgotten to see it for what it truly was.

_A beginning._

If I had returned to where I started, if I let everything go, every moment of time before I got here…then this became another start. I could write another story. I choose to be someone else, someone better. Someone more like the girl who people loved once. The girl who people helped, even when she didn't deserve it. Someone worthy of Angela Weber.

And Edward Cullen.

"You'll be fine," she whispered, releasing me with a gentle push. "You can do this."

My hand dropped away from the bar, without effort. I nodded my head, believing her, not taking my eyes from hers. I stood slowly before her, lifting my chin, gathering my strength.

"Thank you, Angela."

She smiled again, still small but so soft. I smiled back at her, too grateful to say anymore. Unsure if she knew what she had given me, unsure if it would matter to her anyway.

This was the start.

This was the moment I could choose to become what I had been trying so hard to be. This was when I would become real. Nothing that came before, nothing I had done, meant anything at all besides the person I had forged out of it.

I was strong.

I could do this.

And then I heard his voice.

"Bella?"

Time freezes, when you're afraid.

Everything slows down until every heartbeat feels like a knife to the chest. Every breath burning. Burning as the final piece locks into place.

The final realization.

Letting go doesn't mean you fall forever.

There's always a crash at the end.

Accepting the past and starting over doesn't erase a single fucking moment.

It means you have to face them all again.

Face them all again and hope you're a better person.

A stronger person.

I turned slowly, ice lodging and cracking my insides, shards of glass piercing my throat.

I turned until I saw his eyes.

I mouthed his name, barely a breath of sound.

"Jacob?"

He was standing so close to me, too close. I could feel the heat of him, melting against my skin. My reaction to him was immediate, visceral. My whole body tensing, trembling. My mind spinning loose and out of control. Immediately my strength seemed to disappear, all an illusion in the face of reality.

He took a step towards me, his body large and inviting me in.

Every inch of him familiar comfort.

I felt sick as I took a step back.

I bit the inside of my lip so hard I drew blood, savoring the pulsing copper and reveling in the pain.

"Bella, how are you? Are you okay?" He stepped towards me again, not noticing that I was trying to put distance between us. His brown eyes were so gentle, his hand reaching out to me so soothing. When his fingers brushed against my arm tenderly, I inhaled sharply. "When did you get here?"

I opened my mouth to reply.

I couldn't speak.

For a moment, I was paralyzed. So unsure. I looked over to Angela, who was watching us both carefully. Her eyes flicked between us, they looked harder now. I wondered how much of my distress she could see. How much of my fear.

My pulse was pounding my ears, rhythmic and fast.

"I….I need to go," I stuttered, stumbled.

Jacob's brows furrowed in confusion as he opened his mouth to speak, to protest. To keep me with him. I couldn't listen to him anymore. I couldn't handle him yet. I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I ever would be.

I whirled around suddenly, and began to walk to the door, to my escape. My strides were quick and quickening and by the time I swung the door back, I was nearly running. Flinging my body out into the parking lot.

"Bella!" I heard him calling me from the other side of the glass.

I couldn't stop.

I fumbled with my keys for only a moment before I was able to climb into my truck and peel out into the night.

My arm was shifting, feeling like it wasn't attached to me. I felt the tears rolling in steady streams, blinking down my cheeks with every uttered curse. Trying to stem the flow only made it worse, eyes blinking back the fuzz and the rain starting to pound onto the metal and glass in torrents.

I had known that I would see him eventually. There was no way that I could exist in Forks without him here. His presence was the moss on the trees, the clouds rolling over oceans. Constant and beautiful.

I thought I would have more time.

I thought I would face him on my terms.

I thought I would know what to say.

Now I felt so lost, so utterly helpless. Unable to face him, unable to even speak. To move. This final test, where the players were no longer in my head, no longer in my memories, and I was failing at every mark. All my resolve had been imagined. I had forgotten Angela and how I had hurt her, I had run from Jacob without a word, I had hid from my own father when he needed me the most. If this was a new start and I was a new person, I wasn't sure why I felt just as scared and wild as I always had.

I drove without direction, always knowing where I would end up.

I couldn't have been on the roads for more than twenty minutes when I finally pulled the truck to a stop.

It felt like it had been a thousand years.

That I fought so hard to get here and I was arriving exhausted and starving and bruised.

The hospital lights shone through the cascades of water pouring down the windshield.

I swung the door open into the downpour, slipping on the wet asphalt as I emerged. I caught myself on the handle before I fell, feeling so dizzy I could barely pull myself upright. Not a single drink and I was still intoxicated. Fear and apprehension and memories of every horror all mixed into a cocktail that I was taking in with every gasp. Tears mixing and washing away in the rain.

I stood so still for a moment, feeling the drops pound and connect with my body as I looked into the light beyond the doors.

_This is the moment you become real._

I couldn't make Angela forgive.

I couldn't stand toe to toe with Jacob.

I couldn't make Edward love me.

But I could do this.

I _had_ to do this.

I walked through the doors, glass sliding open at I neared, and I wondered at how frightened I truly was. Wondered how frightened Edward had been when it was me in this place. And our son.

"Can I help you, miss?" a kind voice inquired.

I blinked back at the kind looking woman sitting behind a large desk.

I didn't know her.

"I…I'm looking for Charlie Swan," I shivered, gritting my teeth.

She nodded and entered his name into the computer before giving me his room number.

She asked if I was family.

I might have answered her.

But then I was walking, each step staggering under my weight. Up the elevator to the fifth floor, released into an empty corridor. I could feel the hospital starting to creep inside me, even as I forced myself forward, focused on the numbers of the doors. The quiet disease, the muffled phones ringing, the steady beeping of the machines. Somewhere, there was blood.

I felt my knees starting to weaken.

Locking until I fell, let myself fall, sliding down the wall, drunk, curling into myself.

I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugging them to me and resting my chin over them. Wishing for the tears to subside. Wishing that the hall would stop spinning. Wishing that my father was anywhere but in this place.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone walking towards me.

I could hear his footsteps on the linoleum floor, gentle thumps.

I tucked my face into my legs and tried to block out the movement.

I wondered if he would try to help me, or if he would ask me to leave.

The man stopped near me, I could feel his eyes looking down at my huddled form, but he said nothing.

Silence and his quiet breathing.

I raised my head warily, shaking and unstable, and found Edward's eyes staring back at me.

My heart jumped once, a shock from a defibrillator, and then settled.

I should have been surprised, every nerve ending in my body should have been in shock. I should have been relieved or happy or grateful. Only the tiniest parts of me allowed those emotions to flare and dissipate. The rest of me, body and mind, simply exhaled: of course.

_Of course he was here._

I had known that I would see him eventually. There was no way that I could exist in a hospital without him here. His presence was the suffering and screaming, the medicine dulling pain. Constant and beautiful.

He was the doctor, I the patient. The sick, the wounded to his healer. Amongst all the horrible smells, the sounds and the visions, Edward would always be there.

I had been a fool to think I could do this without him.

He was part of it.

The only one who remembered.

Remembered that day and all the rest.

He had been the one stumbling through the doors, not knowing what would meet him on the other side. A love so real and a fear so strong that it choked every part of you, stopped every muscle and rocket fuel to the heart.

And when it was all over I had pushed Edward away when he begged me to stay, to hold our child, to be with our families. To become a family through it, to be the family that I had seen glimpses of when he would hold me and kiss me and laugh with me, but instead I ran.

I kept running, across the country, and now that I was back I was broken.

And we were never a family in that way again.

Not until this moment.

_How could I still love you?_

I had thought it was a rhetorical question.

His words, painful in answer to my pleading need for his love.

Maybe it wasn't.

Maybe he was asking.

_How do I take this story to a new place?_

I could see it in his face as he lingered above me, hesitant and watching me carefully; because there was an animal inside me.

And Edward knew, because he was one too.

Here, not because I asked, but because he wanted.

Needed, maybe.

Needed the same way I needed.

At last, Edward lowered himself to my level quietly, sliding down the wall so he was sitting beside me. He kept a careful space between us, his eyes never leaving me as I took deep breaths, in and out.

Fresh terror making me jump.

"How is he?" I gasped, looking at the wall across from us as I steeled myself.

His words echoed, didn't feel real. There was almost a smile in his voice, just a trace. Sad and relieved.

_Your father's okay. _

I could smell the hospital smell, and behind my eyes I could see someone who was dying.

A child.

I was pushing against something real, trying to get down the hallway to my son.

No.

My father.

I could remember the color, the feeling of the fabric of my dress I was wearing the night my son died; the night I had rushed out of the restaurant and straight into a hospital room. And then everyone was wearing white coats and trying to explain to me what was happening, before and after. So much later, my hand brushing against my empty stomach as Edward looked on.

In that moment, I got scared, all the way down.

And I still was.

"You're here," I said, so quietly I didn't know if he would hear me.

His hand was on the back of my head then, fingers tangling with my hair, holding me up without saying a word.


	44. The Room

**Disclaimer: **Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Room**

Our feet landed in perfect rhythm, slow and dragging with every step across the linoleum floor. My wrist was wrapped around his arm, my fingers grasping at his coat just barely damp from the rain, and the only contact between us. I wanted to press the length of my body against his, lean into him fully for support, but I was so wet.

I didn't want Edward to be as cold as I was.

"Is there anyone else here?" I whispered the question, unable to hide the trembling in my voice, not sure what I wanted his answer to be. If I wanted it to be just the two of us, alone with my father. If I wanted a hundred people between us and guarding me from the pain of seeing him in a hospital bed.

Knowing that none of it was up to me.

I could feel Edward's eyes shift, look down at the top of my head, but I kept my gaze leveled forward. Braced and so scared, waiting for us to reach my father's room. Every door we passed, I could feel my heart catch in my chest, then thud thump as he guided me forward.

"Billy Black," he told me quietly.

My breath stopped for a moment, trapped in a name, before I released it in a swift exhale.

_My father's best friend._

Of course he would be here. Of course he had every right. Of course I had even expected him. Hearing his name, the confirmation across Edward's lips that he was waiting in the room with Charlie, and I knew I would have been surprised if he wasn't.

The man who had always been there for Charlie.

Just as he had always been there for me.

I swallowed. "Just Billy?"

Edward was silent for a moment, and then his steps were slowing to a halt. My hand caught on his arm and I hesitated beside him as I turned wondering eyes up to his face. His expression was at once intense and soft as I felt him so gently, so carefully, press my body into the wall beside me.

I flattened my back against the cool plaster to face him.

"Jacob was here," he told me, his eyes locking with mine. Holding my gaze steadily, concern and support. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "He left about a half hour ago, got a phone call from someone. I don't know where he went."

"I do," I exhaled.

Edward's eyes hardened slightly, his mouth opening without any intention of speaking.

He looked down at me - bracing myself against the wall - and waited.

It was impossible to know what he was thinking, but he didn't look angry.

The hand that was still resting on his arm tightened, my fingers locking to the cotton of his coat just below his elbow. "I saw him, Edward."

"Where?" he wanted to know, his gaze dropping to the floor as he considered my admission.

"At the bar across town," I told him, my eyes flicking across his face, quick back and forth sweeps to find some trace of emotion. A single clue to what he was thinking, feeling. "Someone must have told him I was there."

I held my breath for a moment as he stood, frozen momentarily and considering.

_At the bar across town._

Maybe he thought I had been drinking, maybe he knew that I hadn't, but the weakness was still admitted. I had gone to the bar before I had come to my father. Edward had arrived at the hospital first, to support me, and I was in a _bar_.

With Jacob.

I wanted to tell him what had happened. I wanted to tell him about Angela and the drink left untouched on the counter and how I ran from Jacob like a coward.

All I could do was wait.

Wait with all the explanations and the assurances, wait with all the reason and imploring – knowing that he may never hear them. Knowing that even if he did, they still may not matter to him.

Maybe nothing I could beg would matter now.

"Did you talk to him?" Edward asked at last, his eyes lifting to meet mine.

All I could see was a perfect calm. His expression was soft, muted green of indifference; of a conversation too long coming.

I bit my lip against the shaking, the shivering cold. "I couldn't."

I had run from Jacob before. I hadn't been able to talk to him back then, either. I felt like this had all happened before, that I had lived through this almost a year ago and maybe nothing was different. I had tried to escape Jacob long ago. But that hadn't changed anything.

Still, something flashed across Edward's face, at my words or my expression.

"Hey, don't worry about this now," he said softly, his arm sliding up my arm slowly to pull me to his chest, angling my shoulders into him with support instead of intimacy.

Then we were walking again.

Walking and stopping at the very next door.

"This is it," he told me, his eyes catching mine. "You ready?"

I inhaled, I exhaled.

"Yes."

* * *

_I caught myself against the sink, the bathroom mercifully empty as I gulped for breath. I could feel my entire body shaking with adrenaline, with fear, and with a terrible cruel hope. _

_He was out there._

_He was in the bar that I came to almost every night. The maybe and maybe not that he was seeking me out rattled around in my brain. His eyes had met mine across the room, the dark of his so familiar, the surprise and not surprise within them. The familiarity and the inevitability, the comfort and the questions._

_I had stood from my seat, but instead of walking towards him I had turned, away from the confusion in his face, and fled to the safety of porcelain and glass and tile. A momentary respite from the noise around me and inside my head._

_It wasn't any use, though._

_Even if he wasn't real, how was I supposed to escape him? _

_The apparition, the idea of him, the feel of him still followed me everywhere. _

_There was silence for a long time before he spoke._

"_How's Edward?"_

_I heard his voice from behind me, quiet and searching. I looked down at my hands gripping tight the stone of the sink, pressing as hard as the points of my hips to steady myself._

"_Why are you asking me?" My voice was just as soft, laced with bitterness._

_Ten city blocks away from where I lived. _

_From where I lived with Edward. _

_With my _husband_. _

_He couldn't be here. _

_It was worlds colliding and stars burning up supernova and explosions in the sky. It was the collapse of every careful, delicate structure I had erected in my own defense. Shattering with one look, with only the sound of his voice._

_Jacob in New York._

_I heard him chuckle without humor. _

"_I don't know, because you're married to him?" He sounded closer._

Four years today.

_Slowly, I lifted my eyes to the bathroom mirror, graffiti and smudges of lipstick and that tall, gorgeous man at my back. He had moved away from the door, stepping into the fluorescent light, his dark eyes trained on mine across our reflections._

"_He used to be your friend," I snapped. "Why don't you ask_ him_?"_

_I could remember when it had been the three of us. _

_Jacob and Edward and me. _

_Or the four of us, whenever Edward had a woman on his arm. Place holders, as it turned out, for the one he really wanted. Because he was never really my friend. He was certainly never Jacob's friend. And we were never his._

_Another step._

"_Because I don't…" He paused. _

_I knew the end to that sentence_.

Because I don't care_. _

_We never cared for Edward; not the way he had cared for us. _

"_How are _you_?" He asked then. It was what he really wanted to know. The question made me sick, but I preferred it._

_He had no right to ask after Edward._

_I had no right to answer._

_I shrugged. "Fine."_

_Trying to hide, trying to run away, into the solitude of a bar bathroom. Trying to escape the choking feeling in my chest when I saw him across the room. My safety, my dizzy booze sanctuary, shattered in an instant and finding me fleeing._

_I always ran._

_I just never thought, for an instant, that he would follow._

"_If you're not, Bella, you can tell me," I heard him so gentle, saw him stepping easily closer. "You can tell me anything. I'd be the last person to judge anyone."_

_My eyes narrowed at his words._

"_Right," I scoffed, even as I felt my arms beginning to shake under the weight of what he was saying. So careful, tone apologetic. "Because you're the most disgusting of us all."_

_Jacob shook his head slightly, denying nothing, ignoring the snapping of the tiger's jaws._

_Then he was right behind me and I could feel the warmth of his body at my back. His hands came up and rested softly on my biceps, fingers curling and firm. Controlling the quivering adrenaline coursing through me._

"_Bella, I know you're not happy." His voice was little more than a whisper._

"_Do you?" I spat a harsh laugh. "I wonder why that would be."_

_Jacob was silent for a moment and I watched him carefully in the mirror, my entire body tense under his, as he looked down at my shoulder. I couldn't read his expression. Guilt or pain or regret, hidden in the downward sweep of his eyes._

_I could feel his breath on my neck._

_It warmed every inch of me as I shuddered against the feeling._

"_Why did you marry him?" _

"_Seriously, Jacob?" I spat out, whirling around to face him. _

_His hands released me immediately as he took two quick steps back, holding his arms out in surrender._

_Where did he get off speaking in that bruised voice, as if this was all something that had been done to him? How could he ever think he had a right to ask? _

_Did he?_

* * *

I saw Billy Black first, my eyes falling on the immediate movement as he jumped from his seat at the sight of me. On his face was that familiar smile, so gentle and calmly pleased, like he saw me every day and was happy to see me every day. It was easy to watch him cross the room in four steady strides, easy to feel him pull me into a strong hug. Large and full of love.

"Bella." I could feel him smile my name as I rested my chin lightly on his shoulder, held tightly against him. "It's so good to see you."

"You too," I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment. Taking in the smell, the feel of all that surrounded me. Then my eyes opened to the bed behind him, to the man laying motionless beneath white blankets, lulled by beeping machines. "How is he?"

Billy pulled back, holding my shoulders encouragingly. "He's good, he's good," he nodded assurance. "Just sleeping."

I swallowed, my eyes fixed and unmoving. "Maybe we shouldn't wake him."

"Nonsense," Billy scoffed, releasing me and turning back to his friend. "He wants to see you."

I watched as he walked over, at ease and unafraid, towards my sleeping father. So pale and unstirring as death. A shiver ran through me and immediately I felt Edward move beside me, our shoulders brushing, his eyes on my face.

I didn't turn to look at him.

I kept my eyes on Billy as he leaned down to my father, his hands moving delicate and quiet to weak and covered shoulders, and I pressed my shoulder ever so slightly into Edward's next to me.

Feeling his strength keep me afloat.

"Charlie. Hey, Chief," Billy whispered. "Guess who's here."

I saw my father's eyes blink opened, closed, and open again and I was walking across the room to him, my legs moving not because I told them to but because they had to. Three steps and I was close enough that I could see the momentary confusion in my father's eyes before they landed on me.

I stepped up to the bed, my hand falling uselessly against the mattress.

"Hi, Dad," I said haltingly and strained, my jaw braced and tight.

For a moment he just looked at me, his face so hard and blank.

Like he didn't recognize me, like he was angry, like he didn't want me so close to him.

I fought back every feeling of rejection that threatened to cripple me with each passing second where he said nothing. I stood strong against it and waited, simply waited, because I had to and because Edward was behind me.

Then my father's face seemed to crumble, his eyes softening and looking up at me in wonder.

"Bells," he breathed my nickname like a prayer. "You're here."

Then I understood his silence as incredulity, as the bracing against too much emotion, as the need to verify the truth between what his eyes saw and what his heart wanted. I could see everything reflected in his eyes, in his face, that I had felt since the moment I got the phone call in Colorado.

_Will I ever see you again?_

And the resounding answer that was held in this moment where I stood beside his bed and breathed around him and fell so carefully across him, tucking my head beneath his chin as I felt the tears spill out, with happiness and so much relief.

"Of course I'm here," I whisper cried into the light cloth of the gown that covered his chest. Repeated over and over, like he couldn't hear me. Like saying it a thousand times would help him believe. Help me believe. "Of course I'm here."

I felt his arms, sluggish and weighted by injury, wrapping around my shaking body, dragging me into him like stones in the ocean. The vital thump of his heart was strong and fast against my right shoulder and I couldn't stem the flow of tears at the sound of it, at its tempo.

I couldn't bring myself to pull away and apologize for getting my father wet from rain and salt from my eyes. Every time his arms would tighten around me, I knew he didn't want me to apologize. I knew that he wasn't cold from our embrace. It warmed me to know that I warmed him.

At last, I lifted my head to look at his face. He was watching me tenderly, a small smile lingering on his lips.

"Are you okay?" I asked him pleadingly.

He tilted his head at my concern, his brows furrowing in sympathy. Then he was lifting one arm off of me and bringing his hand to my face, one finger brushing gently across my cheek.

Slowly, he nodded.

_Now that you're here._

I caught his hand in mine and held it against my cheek, my eyes pressing shut against the pain that ripped through me – guilt and regret consuming through all the love I felt for him. All the wasted years, all the silent misunderstandings, all the rugged blame. The moments lost with him, mirroring and reflecting back Edward's moments lost with Carlisle. The fault lying squarely on my shoulders, the forgiveness extended without thought.

"Bella," I heard him say quietly.

My eyes flicked open at his tone: not loving or regretful, but concerned now and urgent.

I saw him looking over my shoulder, towards the other end of the room. His hand dropped from my face but I held it still, as I straightened slightly and turned in the direction of his gaze, towards whispering now rapid and clear.

Edward and Billy were on the other side of the room, blocking the door slightly. Still, I could see through their shoulders the tall frame of Billy's son. I couldn't hear what they were saying to each other, but it seemed as though Jacob was doing most of the talking. His mouth moving with a hushed urgency, his eyes flicking to his father and catching fire whenever they fell on Edward.

Then, in a silent moment, his eyes landed on me as they always did. The abruptness with which he had stopped speaking, the deliberate nature of his stare, caused the other two men to turn as well.

Billy's look was expectant, waiting for an answer.

Edward's face was free from emotion once more – the perfect model of forced indifference.

Jacob smiled.

I clutched harder at Charlie's hand.

* * *

_He was so close._

_He was so close I had to tilt my head back to keep looking into his eyes. _

_He was so close I could feel the body heat battling between us. _

"_Why did you marry him, Bella? Was it to make me jealous? Or did you really want him?" I watched him as he shook his head slightly, his dark eyes growing impossibly darker as he leaned against the sink, his body poised just inches from mine. _

_Anger and lust felt like my heart pounding in my ears._

"_Why are you killing me like this?" he asked, demanded, his voice catching slightly. _

_I could tell that it wasn't a question he wanted answered._

_He was asking it of himself._

_I felt an unwelcome flair of excitement at the tortured words - the look in his eyes - and tried my best to ignore it, to push it down._

"_You didn't want me," I snapped, the harsh in my voice not an inch fake. "That didn't mean I had to be alone."_

_The silence that followed was crushing._

_I had never said it before, never out loud._

_Jacob was fully in the tiger cage now, snapping teeth at his throat, and face to face with my continuing disgust for myself._

"_Go home, Jacob," I said at last, because I was trapped and I couldn't back down. My voice came out surprisingly calm and even. I turned my eyes away. "Go home to your wife, go home to your family. You chose this."_

_I could feel myself hardening, resolved to hurt Jacob as much as it took to shut him up. As long as he kept talking, as long as he kept reasoning, I really _was_ disgusting. _

_Because I was listening._

_Jacob took a deep shaky breath, his lips __almost __touching the back of my head. "I came here for you. I came to New York for you, Bella."_

"_Not alone," I hissed, my voice suddenly soft and deathly quiet. "And far too late."_

_I closed my eyes and turned to face him, pulling my arms protectively over my chest as he stepped back to allow me room, drawing away from him and into myself. Trying to find a place inside where I was calm, where I couldn't hear him._

_I knew such a place didn't exist. _

"_Do you love him?" Jacob asked suddenly._

_The question sounded hollow and unnatural, and I opened my eyes slowly to watch Jacob shift his weight anxiously, trying to read something behind the veil of tears hiding my face._

"_I'm trying," I gasped. "I am __trying __to move on. I am trying not to __care__. I am trying to _hate _you." _

_All I could hear was my own voice shrieking and echoing inside my head. I had no idea if the words were coming out as screaming or sobbing. _

_Either way, I was pleading. _

_He took a step, then another, then another, closing the gap I had tried to create between us. _

"_Bella," he whispered my name again, his lips pressing into my hair as he spoke. _

"_I can't," I breathed reply._

_Not when he was here in behind me, so warm and familiar, as everything else felt like it was unraveling. Not just unraveling, but falling apart so quickly and so completely that I couldn't begin to control it – couldn't even begin to understand it. _

_Somehow his hand found my waist before I was even aware that he had moved, and I was being pulled back towards him. My body flinched at the contact, tensed, before I let my head fall forward to rest against his shoulder, surrendering with my eyes still screwed resolutely shut. _

"_I'm not going to lose you again," I heard him breathe into my neck._

_My eyes flashed open. _

"_No…" I said shakily, twisting away from him. "__No, no, no…__" Stammering and shaking my head vehemently._

_I searched Jacob's face desperately, for any hint of a lie, searching and searching until I could find the place where he would break my heart again. _

_I couldn't stop walking backwards, unconsciously and shaking my head, as if he was a predator who had fixed me under his stare. He was. And I found myself with my back pressed up against one of the stall doors._

"_No," I said again, the word falling from my lips over and over until it didn't even seem to have a meaning anymore._

"_I know I've been an idiot," Jacob interrupted me, his intense gaze dropping and becoming unbearably sad. "I should never have asked you to leave. I should have come after you years ago. I should have been there when…" He paused, then looked up at me, pleading. "But I just…I need you now."_

* * *

Edward stood in the middle of the room, near to the end of my father's bed. His expression was controlled but tense, his eyes steady on me and never nervous. He was simply waiting to take his cues from me, as he always had. Now, though, I had no cues to give him. All my posturing had been stripped from me. He had helped to peel it back, watched it all fall. I wasn't sure what he was waiting to see now.

Still, he wouldn't leave me alone in the room.

Billy stood next to the chair where Jacob sat, to my left. They took the shape of a unified family, strung together with all the love that made up my childhood, my past. Jacob had come to mean so many things throughout my life, but the Jacob here before me was the one who I had been best friends with as a little girl. He was supportive and possessive and loving, concerned for me and for Charlie. For the first time since he had met Nessie he was completely present, his eyes and his concentration only on me. Attention undivided and undeniable.

It scared me.

And in the center of it all, I sat on my father's bed, gripping his hand tightly in my own, anchoring myself.

"How's New York been?" My father's voice was quiet and slightly tentative, as if he thought asking me too many questions would send me running again.

I looked down at him for a moment, slightly confused by the query.

"You mean you don't…the hospital didn't tell you?" I stuttered, glancing over toward Edward.

"Tell me what?" Charlie wondered, eyes flicking to my husband before turning to me for answers, pointedly.

He looked very much like my father in that moment.

The father I knew as a little girl, who would ground me and yell at me in frustration and watch without saying anything as my mother told me I was unwanted. The man who would hang report cards on the fridge and take me for ice cream and come into my room at night when I was scared, to chase the monsters away.

I could always read his mood, I always knew what he was about to say.

We had never been as close as the Blacks, but we knew each other like mirrors back then.

I knew we had drifted, I knew it was my own fault, but I never for one moment even considered the fact that Charlie didn't always know where I was. We never had to tell each other anything, we always just knew.

"They called me…" I started, still wondering as I tapered off.

How would the hospital have known where to reach me?

If he hadn't told them, then who…?

"I tracked you down, Bells." His voice cut across the room for the first time. My eyes flicked to Jacob as he smiled at me, inclining his head slightly. "Gave them your number."

"You…tracked me down?" My throat was suddenly very dry.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Jacob asked softly now, leaning forward.

I recoiled slightly, reflexively, and glanced at Edward.

His eyes were hard on Jacob, his face grave and stone still.

"Nessie talked to some people in Colorado, in the town where you were staying," he elaborated, his voice regaining a distant, friendly tone. Deceptively comfortable, he leaned back in his chair, giving me my space. "She gave me the number to the house."

"She…" I tried, my voice dying as I took in the information.

"She grew up there, Bella."

It wasn't Jacob's voice that time, but Edwards's.

I turned to face him now, to see him walking around the side of the bed, closer to me now. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, I wanted so badly to be able to read him, but he wasn't giving me anything, he was keeping me out on purpose.

_She grew up there._

How could I forget?

Nessie had been his childhood friend, the memory sticking and protesting in my mind as his words echoed. _She grew up there._ In Hartsel, with the people I now considered family. Like Tanya, like so many others, she had been in love with Edward before he chose me. The little girl next door who he had played with before the world had been cruel to him.

Maybe she sat with him while he sketched that tree in his journal.

She had followed him to school, all the way to New Hampshire, she had come on that trip for him. Come for him, left with Jacob and my future, my life. But she had lived in that place, grown up with those people. Featured so often in my nightmares, it was hard to see her as being anyone else. Especially one of them.

Maybe I would have been friends with her.

"Of course," I whispered, helplessly.

Edward's face was so empty.

"You were in Colorado, Bells?" My father asked, my confusion becoming his own.

"Visiting with Edward's family," I explained and didn't explain.

I stopped there, not sure what else to say.

It felt too harsh to say we moved there. To tell him now that we had moved so much closer to him then. Moved anywhere without telling him, without letting him know where in the world his only daughter was. Moved around him, around Forks, like he was someone to be avoided.

He nodded thoughtfully before his brows furrowed with worry. "Everything alright?"

I froze.

"Everything was fine." It was Edward's assurance, in his calm voice and steady gaze.

To tell him why we went, to tell him that Edward had lost his father. I could see him, not wanting Charlie to think about it. How it could have so easily been me who had never seen my father again, never been able to tell him of my regret and my love. How it almost was. And how it would seem too much to handle.

Edward's face, though, left no room for Charlie to doubt.

Everything was fine because Edward said it was.

My father looked relieved as he turned back to me. "Well, I'm glad they were able to get a hold of you."

"Me too," I gripped his hand a little tighter. Then I turned my head slightly, trying not to meet his eyes as I nodded my acknowledgement - sincerity and fear far too intertwined. "Thank you, Jacob."

"No problem, Bells," I could hear the smile, still in his voice. "You know I can always find you."

* * *

_The room was dark brown and red everywhere. The key was burning into my palm, rough edges cutting into my skin as I gripped it tight, and tighter._

_He stood in front of me, like an offering._

_"If you don't want me, you should leave now."_

_It was that simple. _

_It was always that simple. _

_And honestly, what was there to be afraid of? _

_In the space between my parents and Nessie and Edward, in the span of four years without him, Jacob had started to mean something to me that he never had before. The whole point of coming to him was that he was my self destruction and my salvation both. Even as he was the light in my heart, he had begun to define too the absolute worst, scariest places my body could go._

_And the absolute worst, scariest places were where I wanted to get. _

_All those years ago I made a deal with the devil: he could have my soul – he could have Edward's soul – just so I wouldn't be alone. _

_It was in that moment, staring at Jacob standing hopeful prone before me, I realized that I had been too young - too scared and hurt - to make those kinds of deals. And by hook and by crook I'd been breaking Edward down to my level, dragging him and his great love into the dark with me. Slowly, I was getting every evil I had wanted back then, back when I thought I could handle it. _

_And now the joke was that having Jacob – and destroying Edward – would leave me just as empty as I had always been._

_So I kissed him._

_Crashed my lips against his with every ounce of pain and suffering and agony I had experienced over the years, grinding up against lust and love in my head and on my tongue._

_I finally understood the punch line, and it was me._

* * *

The truck pulled to a stop without my noticing.

The engine was still rumbling a steady purr, the only sound in the silence that had overtaken me. I felt utterly drained as my eyes fell on the house, dark and solemn in the night, lit only by headlights. It was still raining, of course, and the drops were sparks of light on the windshield, making everything fuzzy and slightly out of focus.

Then the engine clicked off and we were thrown into complete darkness, everything black and blue around me. I heard the driver's side door slam closed and I watched as his figure in shadows crossed in front of me.

He pulled open my door and then I could hear the rain soft on the grass in harmony with the tapping against the hood.

I felt Edward reach out, his fingers closing slowly, carefully around the hand that was resting motionless in my lap. He lifted it towards himself without pulling, only a suggestion and a promise of patience.

I was a wild beast.

And Edward knew because he was one, too.

I could see it in his face - in everything I couldn't see - whenever he looked at Jacob. We had all left the hospital at last, when it had become too late. Jacob had wrapped me in a hug that went on for as long as a childhood friend. Nothing more. It was enough, though, to set my heart racing in fear and enough to click Edward's jaw.

"Come," he said to me quietly, his voice still dark.

It sent a shiver through me, but there was fire in his eyes now. They flashed hot with all the worry and love and hurt that had been so absent at the hospital. Weakness that he couldn't show to Jacob, insecurity and absolute self-assurance twisted together. Storms of emotion and, through it, every inch that cared about me.

At his command, I could feel a gentle tug on my hand and in my stomach.

I found myself stepping from the car and standing awkwardly before him, in front of the house where I grew up.

It was smaller than the Cullen's and colder.

I looked up into Edward's face and what I found there now made my breath hitch.

I sniffed, and accepted the gift.

I felt Edward's arm come around me and I leaned my head against his shoulder, not looking up at him but still thinking in that moment that he was very beautiful.

I breathed in, so hard, and held onto Edward as we made our way up the porch stairs.

And into his shoulder, I whispered my thanks.

* * *

"_What are we doing?" I heard Jacob's voice beside me in the darkness._

_Our naked bodies were warm and under covers._

"_What do you mean?"_

_He sighed. "I can't see either one of us getting out of this unharmed."_

_I could feel him leaning on his hand to look at me._

_I kept my eyes fixed to the ceiling._

"_Of course not. This is going to break us." A bubble of mad, drunken laughter threatened to burst from me, exploding out like the pain I could feel burning over every inch of my skin. "It's going to be the bloodiest fucking massacre you've ever seen."_


	45. The Town

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.

* * *

**The Town**

Some time in the night, the rain stopped.

I could hear the gentle patter through open windows, the ping on the rooftop.

Edward followed me through the darkness of the house with his hand in mine. Waiting patiently when I fumbled around furniture because I was unwilling to turn on the lights.

I didn't want to see the house where I grew up.

I was certain it looked the same.

I could hear the rain's steady cadence as a backdrop, mood music for the sparking contact between our bodies.

It reached an unbearable pitch the moment my staggering steps were made smooth; when he wrapped his arm around my waist to help me up the stairs.

It was battering windows and pounding the walls when I pulled him onto my bed.

The sound was deafening, a roar that drowned out every movement, every word we might have spoken.

The dichotomy of the silence, of the roar, made me more aware of him. Where he was, where he was touching me, every inch of my own body. I wasn't sure if it was the rain or my heart that was thudding so heavily in my ears.

Then his hands were on me, peeling off wet clothes until I was sitting beside him in nothing but my underwear.

It was silent – or I was deaf to everything – when his own shirt came off and he wrapped me in the dry cotton that smelled like him.

He lay down, then, and waited quietly as I sat above him - my heart still beating hard - staring down through the dark where he was only a grey shadow laying beside my bare white, outstretched legs. Motionless and eyes turned up to the ceiling.

I could feel words sticking in my throat, imagined yelling them over the rain and it seemed impossible. Questions and musings and explanations all swirling around us in the black, unsaid.

His presence in my mind through the hours of driving, the moments alone in a motel, the shocking reality of his appearance in the hospital, now in the room where I grew up - lying amongst every ghost I had ever tried to escape - and I could feel the weight of it pressing my body down.

Down until I was laying beside him, not touching but still feeling the electricity of his body, the crackling warmth coursing between us.

Down into the dark and further, into sleep.

When I awoke, it was only from the span of a breath, the length of a blink, and it was completely silent.

It had stopped raining.

The sky was clear, a moon that was almost full cast everything in violet, and my pale legs rested still over the blankets.

Laying on my back, almost naked and warm, I turned my head to the left to see him beside me.

Everything felt fuzzy surreal like a dream.

I didn't feel awake.

"You're here," I whispered the moment I could make out the silhouette of his face, the light spark of his open eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His head turned slowly, rolling over the pillow so his eyes could meet mine, grey and shining in the moonlight.

"I flew in this morning." His voice was calm and soothing, his answer simple.

I reached my hand out, wanting to hold onto him, but there was nothing to grip but skin.

It wasn't mine to mark.

My hand dropped and I gathered the material that covered me – his shirt – where it ended on my thigh. I watched my fingers as I bunched the material over my bare legs, keeping my eyes from his bare chest.

"Why?" I whispered, the question escaping on an exhale.

I felt Edward's hand slide down to cover my own, soothing my rigid fingers. His skin was so hot, scorching against my clammy knuckles, still damp from the rain.

"Why do you think?"

All the muted and coiling tension inside me melted at his question, the tone of his voice. His words were too soft, begging for an answer. It was an answer too obvious to vocalize, too frightening to admit, too desired to think.

I couldn't look at him.

Finally, I wondered aloud, "Were you at the hospital all day?"

"I went about an hour before you got there." I could feel Edward shaking his head. I could hear him bite the inside of his cheek against his words, like he was nervous.

My stomach flipped and my whole body tensed slightly, pushing back against the guilt.

If I hadn't gone to the bar, we could have walked into the hospital together.

He wouldn't have had to face Jacob alone, and neither would I.

The moment I thought it, though, I knew it wasn't true.

When it came to Jacob, we were both alone.

It was me and it was him and the very thought of Edward walking into that hospital to face that man filled me with fear.

With the need to run.

Edward's grip on my hand tightened slightly.

"I'm checked in at a little motel on the outskirts of town," he told me, pulling me out of my head.

I swallowed and looked up, then. Leveled my gaze to his. Saw the eerie light of the moon on his chest, shoulders, arms. The lines of muscle still slender, but strong. His vibrant green eyes, robbed of all color in the night.

He stared back at me, unflinching.

"Will you go back there?" I breathed the question. As soon as I did, it seemed to dissolve on my tongue and I no longer knew what I was asking.

Or what I wanted his answer to be.

Back to the motel, back to Hartsel, back to a life without me.

Now that he had shown his support, now that he had offered his comfort, now that he saw what waited for me here, would that satisfy him?

Was it enough?

There was barely a pause before: "No."

My heart lurched with something that felt like a dangerous hope and suddenly I felt wide awake, everything sharp and clear and unbelievably real. I could feel the familiar texture of the blanket beneath me, I could feel the warm of his skin beside me, I could feel his hand still over mine.

"I want you to stay here," I told him.

"I know," he replied, like he knew exactly what I meant.

I sighed, my body sinking back in relief, into the down of the pillows and the firm of the mattress.

We lay there for a long time, on our backs, our heads still turned towards each other. I could feel his breath on my face and I tried to inhale with his exhale.

I released the shirt and our hands fell, still clasped, in the sliver of space between our bodies.

I could feel myself slipping under once more, breathing out a hypnotic rhythm, the gentle hum of contact and the silent magnetic moon lulling me to sleep.

Back into dreams and blurred truths.

"I used to live here," I sighed quietly as my eyes closed.

* * *

The ocean air was humid, the wind salty against my skin. Familiar yellow paint peeled beneath my fingers, giving way to bare wood, weathered with age.

It was a strange feeling – a distant cousin of déjà vu maybe – seeing everything seen a million times through different eyes. The land and roads and buildings unchanged, my own heart so distant.

It made me want to laugh and cry at once, to think I could have all this back.

"Do you know how to fish?" I heard Edward wonder beside me, tone interested and musing out towards the ocean.

We had paused on the small strip of sea shell parking lot to watch the waves crash lightly against the rocks - their usually stormy steel grey under the sky. Beside us was the reason for his query, my father's favorite tackle shop: an exciting city trip into Port Angeles when I was a girl.

"I went with him a few times when I was really young, but I don't remember," I replied with a slightly shrug. "I came here more often."

"Why's that?" Edward asked.

I looked up at him, standing beside me in a green Dartmouth sweatshirt, his hair whipping wildly in the breeze and his cheeks flushed pink.

His face was so open now, young and lovely and comfortable.

A far cry from the man who had been so consumed with his anger in New York, such a distance from the man who had run from me in the Colorado night – broken and guarded.

Even changed from the man who had picked me up off the hospital floor a few days ago.

When I had asked him this morning if he would like me to show him around after I had visited my father, his face had lit up with a brilliant smile I had never seen before.

And a few hours later, when I walked into my father's hospital room alone, I saw that same exact smile stretch across Jacob's face.

"_Jacob," I said, halting at the door. My limbs, my tongue suddenly frozen._

_He watched my hesitation with sharp interest before he responded, still smiling, "I was just leaving. Give you two some time alone." He clapped my father lightly on the shoulder. "Take it easy, Chief."_

"_I'll see you, Jacob," my father responded. "Thanks for stopping by."_

_Somewhere under the layer of tension, I wondered at my father's tone; at the fact that he didn't call him 'Jake'. The affection was missing from his voice and his eyes were fixed on me._

_My stomach sank slightly, wondering how much my father could see._

_Jacob stopped next to me, our shoulders almost brushing, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear._

_I could feel his breath on my neck._

"_Can we talk later today, Bella?"_

"_I have plans." I responded immediately, not even thinking about my response. _

_Thinking only of Edward's face._

_Jacob's brows rose. _

"_You can't avoid me forever." Then he smirked at me, leaning so close his lips brushed against my skin. "And you don't have to."_

_His voice was seductive comfort and familiarity._

_He walked out and I shivered._

Clearing the memory from my mind with a shake of my head, I returned my attention to the man before me, a small smile still present on his lips – it had been constant when we were in the shop, picking up rainbow colored lures and running our hands along poles and netting.

"I don't think I had the patience for actually sitting out in a boat. Or the...stillness," I explained to him with another deprecating shrug. "Anyway, I used to come here because I liked spending time with my father. And he liked to fish."

Edward's smile turned incredibly soft, perhaps picturing a younger version of me: a mythical little girl who might have been as kind-hearted and selfless as he always was.

I could hardly even remember that version of myself - she was a shadow in this place, a haunting that I couldn't quite grasp.

"Then I got older," I smiled grimly. "Things changed."

"What things?" His voice was very quiet when he asked.

I sighed and looked down at my fingers chipping at the paint.

I hoped the paint on the Hartsel house would hold through the winter.

"I know he loves me. I _know_ he does. He just...isn't so good at showing it. He had trouble taking an interest in my life, trouble relating to me on any level," I began, my words trickling out slowly, giving voice to what I had always known and never bothered to wonder about.

I continued, "When I was young, when I idolized him, that didn't matter. I would follow him to the bait shop every day of the week and it never seemed important that we didn't, I don't know…read the same books? When I got older it felt to me like...apathy. He frustrated me, so I pulled away."

I stopped then, feeling suddenly silly.

Silly for telling him, silly for even thinking that I was anything other than incredibly lucky.

I still had my father, he was still alive, and I had another chance to be his daughter if I was brave enough to take it.

I had always been ungrateful for every gift that had been given to me, I had always felt undeserving and resistant, and I wasn't sure I was any different now. I wasn't sure where I had grown and where I had remained. Edward insisted there were parts of me that hadn't changed at all.

Maybe this was one.

I would always waste opportunities to be happy.

There must have been something in my face because Edward was looking right at me when he whispered, "I'm sorry" earnestly, like he understood. Like he wanted to erase completely any feeling that I was silly or ungrateful or guilty.

I shrugged, stepping away from him slightly.

Carlisle and Charlie weren't the same men.

Edward and I weren't the same people.

No relationship could be based on another.

Somewhere inside, I knew this.

I knew that if I never reconciled with my father, Edward would never blame me for wasting an opportunity that hadn't been afforded to him. His loss was a reminder to me, not an obligation. I couldn't fix anything because I owed it to him, only because I wanted it to be fixed.

But knowing something and believing it, truly and deep down, are two completely different things.

It was the consuming intensity of green eyes against the grey backdrop, the fire sparking interest and even a _need_ to know some of this story, that made me continue with quiet slow words.

"When my mom left after high school, I think he tried to sort of tie himself to that abandonment, like he thought it would bring us closer because he was the one who stayed." I looked down and away, then back out to the ocean as I bit my lip. "It only made me resent him more."

I heard Edward inhale deep beside me.

He held his breath for a moment in silence before he exhaled his question: "Does he know about...did you talk to him at all these past years?"

There was a slight tremor in his voice, and I knew immediately what he was asking me.

"He knows I was pregnant. He knows I..._lost_...the baby." The euphemism felt bitter on my tongue, my voice soft and low. "He doesn't know anything beyond that."

I turned to look at Edward now, needing to see his reaction.

There didn't seem to be one.

He was nodding quietly, his face thoughtful, staring out into the same distance that had just filled my gaze: the rhythm of silver waves before us.

"He sent me a letter once, right after we moved to New York. He was trying to comfort me, he kept telling me that there would be other children..." My voice cracked, staggering my words. "I just couldn't..."

Edward's eyes snapped to my face, all the wondering gone and replaced with something hard and passionate.

I saw his hand reach for me slowly, felt it close around my shoulder as I let him drag my body into his chest.

I breathed in and wrapped my arms around his firm waist, but not tight. Not holding him to me, but holding onto him.

"Will you tell him now?" He asked, his cheek moving with the words, on top of my head.

"I want to..." I began.

I let the words hang, unsure how to finish, tilting my head down so my forehead was resting on his sternum, my eyes shut tight.

"What?" He prompted, giving me a gentle squeeze.

I felt the rush of guilt, that shame burning in my cheeks at the thought of Carlisle, at the thought of Edward comforting me, before I managed to whisper: "I don't know how to talk to him anymore."

"Talk to him like you did when you were young," Edward suggested, his voice slightly muffled, speaking into my hair. "He's still that man."

I felt a sudden sharp pang at his words, like a knife blade sinking between my ribs; a tingle tear of a memory shoving its way into my consciousness, unbidden and unbearable.

The memory of a little girl who had loved going down to the police station with her father more than anything. More than any fishing trip, more than any bait shop.

I hadn't put into words at the time _why_ I had loved going to work with my father so much, but I knew now it was of how much he loved it, how much I loved him. He loved what he did and he was the best at what he did. He believed in his work, in how he could make a difference. He was in command of all the other men, he was the protector, he was so strong, invincible.

I'd never felt so proud to have someone's love as I felt to have the love of the Chief of Police.

When he would tuck me in at night, kiss me on the cheek, tell me he loved me, I would say silently to myself "_mine_" and it would fill me with joy.

I pulled back from Edward slowly, shaking my head and stepping away one step, then two. He looked startled, reaching out to steady me for a moment, his fingers on the outside of my wrist before dropping back down to his side.

"He's _not_ that man anymore. It was stolen from him..." I mourned, my eyes meeting Edward's and seeing my sadness reflected on every inch of his face. "What if he never loves anything the way he loved his work? What if he never feels that happy ever again?"

"Losing what you love is hard," Edward nodded, swallowing the wave in his voice. "Being unable to realize your passion can be...devastating. Utterly."

"Maybe it's too hard," I responded slowly, gritting my teeth. "I wouldn't know what to say to him."

Edward reached out to me then, his hand stretching to brush my cheek and traveling up to tangle in my hair. The smile on his face was achingly sad and filled with encouragement, strength, faith.

"You've lost things too, Bella." His fingers twisted a strand of my hair before falling away gently, like a caress. "You have a real chance here, to help him through this."

I nodded slowly, hesitantly, wanting him to touch me again.

"And you have a gift with words."

* * *

I always ordered the same flavor of ice cream.

When my mother used to bring me to her favorite ice cream shop in the summer, it was never sunny outside. There had been no clichéd melting cone, because I always got my ice cream in a cup. The owner, Janet, used to sneak me candy that I would forget in my pockets for days.

And I always got rocky road.

My mother would get something new every time. She would wonder at the flavors, moan about one she had already tried, stand for what seemed like hours in front of the counter, unable to make a decision.

I could remember watching her and doubting my own certainty. I would get my favorite ice cream and wonder the whole time if there was something better, too afraid to order something new.

When I brought Edward into the store it was pouring.

We quickly grabbed a table, trying not to shake our wet coats onto the floor too much as we took them off. Then he ordered himself the huckleberry cheesecake ice cream.

I ordered rocky road.

Our table was next to the window and for a while I watched drops of rain slide down the glass, the wet making me cold and the ice cream making me colder. It slid down my throat painfully familiar and delicious sweet.

I let my eyes fall onto Edward across from me.

His hair was dripping and dark, cheeks pink, lips red. Every color contrasting sharply against his pale skin, jade eyes trained on his ice cream as he scooped it into his mouth. He shivered slightly and I thought maybe he was cold, too.

He looked up abruptly to catch me watching him, offering a small smile that was kind but curious.

"How is that?" He asked me, nodding towards my ice cream.

After the first few bites, my spoon had idled in the cold dessert.

"It's good," I replied softly. I pulled a spoonful from the dish and held it out to him.

He smiled again and leaned forward, accepting the offering.

He hummed his approval.

"Want to try some of mine?"

I watched as he held out a spoon of ice cream, the flavor new and uncertain – perhaps one my mother had eaten before – and I felt my heart start to beat hard in my chest.

Edward offering me the flavor that meant I hadn't always been like my mother.

A taste of who I had been when I was more like him.

When I knew what I wanted and couldn't settle for anything less.

_Couldn't take a risk and strive for something better._

"Why me?" I blurted out suddenly.

Edward's arm froze in the air, his brows furrowing as he repeated hesitantly, "Why you?"

The question was leading, drawn out, he didn't understand.

"Yes," I nodded. "Why did you pick me?"

Edward paused for a moment, his eyes dark and searching mine. "You mean...?"

"When we met. Why was it me?" I clarified. Then swallowed and continued, "Why did you come up to me? Why did you ask me out in that cafe? Why did you get me seen at that hospital? Why...all of it? I could have been anyone."

Edward's arm dropped, he placed the spoon down on the table, and he was quiet for a long time.

I counted every second he said nothing.

"I don't..." he began before trailing off.

_I don't know._

That was how this conversation usually went.

Evasion and vagueness and ducking and dodging. A shrug and a refusal to open. To consider. To remember.

I think he could see that wasn't going to be enough this time.

"I need to know, Edward," I tried softly.

He nodded before he returned quietly, "Why now?"

I paused.

_Why not when we met? _

_Why not before I knew how important I was to him? _

_Why not when I found out? _

_Why not before we slept together? _

_Before we were married? _

_Before everything went to hell?_

I knew his question was as much a demand as mine.

I looked into his face, held very still and eyes locked like stones to mine.

Unyielding and sharp.

"Now is all I have," I said finally.

Edward blinked and was silent, studying my face.

I knew he was still trying to figure out the angle, figure out where my question came from. Where I had gone from showing him all the places I remembered fondly in my hometown, running through the rain and eating ice cream straight back into my fear.

I didn't know how to tell him it was this place.

Just being here, I could feel our story coming to a close. I could feel the symmetry and the second chances fading away and I had no idea how long he would stay here, or how long I would.

It was so hard to think that it had been only a week since he had kissed me on the porch of the Hartsel house, fierce desire tangling with his denial.

It was something we both needed to deal with, but once again had been forced to push aside.

Running out of my arms, running into them, with no space in between to think.

I needed to slow everything down, fight my way through the whirlwind.

I needed the beginning.

His expression – like he was searching for words in my own face – made my stomach weigh with lead.

"Was it because you...liked the way I looked?" I finally asked, the quivering in my voice betraying a fear I had always had. The only reason he had ever kissed me: lust and nothing beyond it.

Something in Edward's eyes shifted suddenly, too quick for me to pinpoint, and he barked a laugh stilted with bitterness.

"After everything, that's what you think of me?" he wondered, his voice absent of accusation or anger. Hollow, somehow, through the syllables he forced out of slightly gritted teeth.

"It's just…for you it seemed…" I struggled, backtracking quickly at his pained smile.

"Instant?" He finished for me, his voice a dare now.

Was I accusing him of love at first sight, he wanted to know. Something we both knew to be lust.

Shallowness?

Superficiality?

I shook my head quickly.

It wasn't that, I knew.

"You always seemed so sure," I explained, still pleading for an explanation. Never truly understanding his certainty, his conviction. "But you didn't even know me."

I wanted him to be right about me and beyond that, I wanted his reasoning. I knew so much more about myself, about how he had felt about me.

But I still didn't know how it had started.

Here in this town, at the start of everything, it seemed inevitable that I should ask.

That he should tell me.

"You were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen," Edward said suddenly, his voice low. My eyes snapped to his and I saw no apology in them. He continued, "I talked to you, though, because you seemed..._different_. Free in a way I'd never been."

The last was said thoughtfully, tasting the phrase out on his tongue.

"Free..." I whispered the word without realizing, incredulous.

"You feel everything so intensely, so completely," he elaborated, gaze hot on my face as he echoed almost exactly Esme's words. "I always thought that was why you were so attractive to me back then. Your eyes, your smile, everything beautiful seemed to radiate from within, from how sharply you feel."

"Your mother said the same thing to me, right before I left," I told him.

His answering smile seemed to say that he wasn't surprised, that it was so plain.

That everyone in the world, perhaps, could see me in a way I would _never_ see myself.

Because if what Edward and Esme had observed about me was true, why would they say it like it was a strength?

How could it possibly make me beautiful?

Emotion made me weak, made me ugly, crippled me, destroyed me and everyone who cared for me.

It killed my son, it crumbled my marriage. It forced me from my home, it poured gin down my throat, it made me numb all the way down. All because I couldn't handle the pain, couldn't function under the weight of grief and disappointment and love.

It wasn't something that could ever make me desirable.

It was the reason I had to change.

"I just wanted to know you," Edward continued, pulling me out of my head as his voice turned sad, a little quieter. "It took me a long time to figure out that I never would. Not really. And by that point, it didn't matter. It…the way I felt about you, it couldn't be stopped. Even if you never let me in."

"I'm the burlesque dancer, right?" I smiled at him bitterly, using his own metaphor.

Edward nodded. "You were."

I wasn't sure if his use of the past tense was deliberate or not.

I hoped it was.

Someday, I wanted to be naked before him. I wanted his eyes all over every inch of me, to my core. I could almost imagine the freedom, the lightness. I could almost feel it on my skin.

"I want you to know me," I said after a moment, quietly. "I want to know myself."

Edward smiled then, small and encouraging.

He picked up his spoon and took another bite of his ice cream.

"Then we will," he replied calmly. "And I'd like to start by telling you something I know about you, that I think you don't."

"What?" I breathed, watching him warily as he smiled.

"You're still beautiful, Bella," he told me, his voice firm and leaving me motionless and holding my breath across from him.

He leaned forward earnestly, passionately.

"The world, circumstance haven't changed that. You've learned to control your emotions, not be ruled or incapacitated by them, but you still feel everything in your gut. And you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

* * *

Edward and I had been in Forks for five days before I took him down to the dirt road near the Quileute reservation.

We had explored most of the town, visited with my father every day, slept in the same small bed every night. We had talked of the serious and the mundane. We had shared weighted silences and bursts of laughter. He was gentle touches and soft eyes, brushes against my skin and strength that held me close in the dark.

And it wasn't enough.

There had come a shift so subtle, a change so quiet, that I hadn't noticed until it was too late to go back. I hadn't noticed until there was no room left for guilt or doubt or shame.

I hadn't felt this way ever.

Not when it was Jacob and I and love was new.

Not when it was Jacob and I and love was perfect.

Not when it was Jacob and I and love was cheating and sneaking and over-hot hotel rooms contrasting sharp with the chill of the winter city.

There had been no years of apathy yawning behind us, throwing happiness and peace into blinding focus. There had been no juxtaposition equal to the contradiction of how Edward treated me before and how he looked at me now.

My heart had never ached to burst when Jacob had held my hand, because there had never been months upon torturous months of simply _wishing_ he would.

What I felt now, with Edward, was nothing like what I had known. It wasn't young love, not hopeful or naive, but it was new and it felt so innocent. Everything we had been through only magnified it. Every time our eyes met, every time our hands brushed, I could feel the weight of it crashing through all the inches of my body.

The impossible - the _never_ we had both whispered to ourselves over and over in the night - felt so near I could taste it. It burned through me whenever his lips touched my cheek, my temple, my shoulder.

I could feel my hope locking horns every moment with my doubt.

Because everything was encouraging and platonic, a careful distance from that night in Colorado, with a stifling tension that was almost unbearable. He was supportive, so kind, so fascinated with the place where I grew up. He asked questions, drank in every answer like a man dying of thirst, and slowly my answers stopped being so stilted, so painful to extract because I wanted him to know everything.

We went to old diners, into forests and meadows, I showed him trees that I used to climb and rocks on the beach that had been my favorite forts to watch the water, as I sat wondering what lay beyond.

Rediscovering these places, feeling salt in the air once again, was addictive and wonderful.

Made sharper, clearer, by Edward's constant presence at my side.

I wished I could suspend time and stay in this place forever.

But in the evening, on our fourth night in town, while we were eating dinner, Jacob had called the house.

So the next day I brought Edward to the dirt road on the edge of town, where I had learned to ride a bike alongside my best friend.

This place of the innocent youth that would become my undoing.

I had parked the truck on the grass, and we abandoned it to walk slowly on packed sand and stone. I listened to it crunch beneath our feet. There was a break in the rain, the clouds holding steady and dry. The earth we walked across dark and only just damp.

I felt like I should be the first to speak.

I felt like if I was, if I could just hold him in silence for a moment, I could tell him anything. Or everything. I could tell him all that I felt and more. My way with words, he had said.

Instead, we walked side by side until his voice was the first to crack into the stillness.

"How was Charlie today?" he asked me, looking out ahead of us. I could hear the wondering in his question, I could see it on his face. His words were light and politeness.

I grasped onto them, like a stumbling drunk losing my balance.

I allowed my grateful thoughts to turn to my father, with a sigh of reprieve, and found myself smiling.

"Good," I replied softly.

"Did they say when he could come home?"

My mouth twisted at his question, the now-familiar battle of relief and apprehension raging within me.

"Soon."

I wanted to say more.

I wanted to tell him about all the doctors had said of his improvement and how my father would flirt with nurses and how yesterday he had cried in my arms because he was so happy I had come.

My words were stuck, though.

As they always seemed to be around him now.

Stilted and monosyllabic, unable to meditate on anything except telling him how selfishly I wanted him; on how badly I wanted to fix everything that was wrong so that I _could_ tell him.

I found myself speaking very suddenly, words I hadn't meant to say.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you - _really_ there for you - when Carlisle died."

My eyes were on his face when I said it.

I watched as he took the apology like a hit.

His eyes widened with shock, then pain, as they flicked down to me sharply. There was a missed beat in his step, a falter that made me think he was going to stop for a moment. But he kept walking, slower now, barely, and I kept pace when he turned his eyes away. Hiding his emotion from me and looking forward into the trees.

"I know," he breathed out. Then his mouth tightened as he added, "I didn't want you to be there for me."

I swallowed. "That's why I'm sorry."

There was a long pause.

Then, he did stop, though he still wasn't looking at me.

"I forgive you," he whispered, so quietly.

I bit my lip, worrying it nervously. "Why did you bring me to his funeral?"

It felt a little hard to breathe. The air was too thick, too heavy.

Begging to rain.

"It's complicated."

"Why bring me to Hartsel at all?" I whispered then, my voice so urgent through the quiet. When he didn't respond, didn't look like he ever would, I implored. "Edward?"

I watched as he opened his mouth to speak, before closing it quickly. His brows were crushed and he looked like he was suffering some private agony as he shook his head.

"Will you ever tell me?"

He smiled softly then and without humor. "As soon as I know, you'll know," he replied, shrugging broad shoulders. He pronounced the words with finality, an end to the discussion.

He walked on and I followed a few steps behind.

I didn't expect him to speak again.

But of course, a few minutes later, from in front of me, came the inevitable question.

"So, what happened here?"

I couldn't see his face, but I knew the was glancing around at the deserted road, looking for some clue, some hint of hidden beauty. I could practically _hear_ the curiosity on his face. The forced shift in demeanor. Somber to curious. Defensive to cheerful.

We were masters at it.

"Jacob," I said the name simply, as an explanation, like lead settling in my gut.

He didn't miss a step this time.

I elaborated, "This is where I learned to ride a bike."

I waited, watched him carefully, but not an inch of him tensed. I felt my whole body unwillingly coil in suspense, hackles bristling in fear, and he just kept striding forward with even, languid steps. Moving smoothly, gracefully, and listening quietly.

"I saw him at the hospital…the first morning I went to see my father. And then last night on the phone…" My voice trembled slightly, and I wished he would turn around and look at me. "He wants to talk to me," I added helplessly.

There was barely a beat before I heard a soft, noncommittal, "Oh."

I halted where I was, not knowing if he would notice or if he would continue walking.

"I don't want to talk to him," I said, wishing my voice sounded more firm. "I think...I think I might have to. But I just don't..." I trailed off.

Edward must have heard the distance he was putting between us because he stopped walking and turned to me. When I saw the expression on his face – so kind and concerned – I had to drop my eyes to the ground.

"Hey..." his voice was gentle as I heard him walk over to me. One hand reached out to clasp my shoulder in encouragement.

"I'm afraid of him, Edward," I admitted, ashamed.

I felt a warm hand barely cup my chin, coaxing my head up slowly to meet his eyes. I wanted to pull away, turn from him, but then his thumb – so slowly – stroked across the corner of my jaw.

"You shouldn't be," he told me, his voice insistent and honest. "He can't do anything to us that we haven't done to each other a hundred times over."

His words were like a suckerpunch to the gut and I flinched away from him reflexively.

I knew it was true.

My mind immediately turned to the yelling and silence, the starving and death and blood.

To divorce papers that would split us down the middle.

My eyes met his and I knew he had meant his words as encouragement, that he was confused by my reaction. He couldn't understand why or how he had hurt me, simply by speaking the truth. The truth we both knew, had both tried desperately to atone for it. What pain was there left to hide? What denials were left to cry out?

How could he possibly know what I felt when I looked at him now?

He thought there was nothing left to fear, that the worst was over and the way was a straight line moving forward. But the way had never been a straight line for me and I knew now that there was one more thing to be scared of: maybe it didn't matter to Edward anymore – maybe it wouldn't affect him one way or another, and that was why he wasn't afraid - but if I still loved Jacob it would destroy me, body and soul.

To confess pain is simple.

To confess happiness? To confess hope or need or love?

There is nothing more dangerous in the world.

* * *

It was a sunny day in Forks.

The high rolling thunderclouds, ever present, were held at bay by a determined sun shining bright and unexpected. It illuminated trees and wet grass, every surface shimmering green and brightly disbelieving. Emerald spilling over wet surfaces, sparking lively and warm and felt by every person in the town.

When I was young, my mother had taken me to Phoenix to visit her parents. I remembered what it was like in the desert: hot and naked and so bright that everything seemed to be tinted a faint, strange blue.

When I had returned to Forks, I dreamt for weeks through a filter of the same color.

I thought of that place now, as I drove down the slow streets. It wasn't a day filled with the same unbearable dry heat and skeletal landscape, but was definitely a brightness that blinded.

I took my eyes off the road for a moment to look at Edward beside me.

He was sitting silently in the truck's passenger seat, long legs kicked forward as he leaned back comfortably. His gaze was fixed out the window and I could imagine everything his eyes were landing on.

I still knew the streets by heart.

I wondered if he was contemplating the rarity of the weather, or if his focus lay in the town; in its landmarks and people and history. Maybe he was looking at the town through my eyes, wondering about the childhood that he had never been invited to know before now.

Through a filter as blue as the desert.

I wanted to speak to him - to break the silence and simply ask what he was thinking, what he was looking at - but the air in the truck was stifling.

I was so close to him, and not close enough.

I focused on where I was headed instead, the public high school near the center of town. I had been reluctant to suggest the place, but the sly grin on Edward's face when I had was enough to turn my opinion on the matter. Anything it took to light his eyes like that. Amusement and curiosity…anything.

I made turns that were automatic and imprinted, my eyes falling over familiar houses, trees that I had always known would remain, places that looked different through new eyes and the sun beating down.

Then I saw one that made me stall with its power, made me pull the truck slowly to the side of the road as if I was being forced against my own will.

The public library nestled comfortably close to the school.

Close enough to walk whenever I needed to go, to be in there, to be in the company of true and enduring friends.

It was the place where I had learned to read. Where I had spent days after school, back when I could ignore Jacob's pleas for attention the same way my mother could ignore mine. Fantasy and science fiction, classic literature and light young adult fare. Whatever I could get my hands on. And stretching above all of them were the poets I had learned to worship.

It was the place where I fell in love with the written word, lost among the stacks and shelves and wandering in places that couldn't hurt me.

Where love was always returned and happy endings were predetermined and fixed.

Where tragedy ended on the final page.

"Do you want to go in?"

I jumped at Edward's voice, at his question, even though it was low and tentative.

I turned to see him watching me, his eyes flicking towards the brick building a few times and quickly. His face held nothing but support and encouragement, but there was something indefinable in his features that made me lean away from him slightly. Pressing my back into the seat, my arm into the door.

I couldn't understand what it was, I wasn't convinced that I wasn't imagining it.

"No." I said finally, my voice firm and clear, definite.

"Why not?"

I shrugged and looked away from him, out towards the familiar doors.

I had walked through them a million times.

"I don't belong there anymore."

Edward was quiet for a moment before he asked me, "Why do you say that?"

There was something demanding about the way he asked, something severe.

It made my jaw clench and click.

"I'm not that girl anymore. I don't want to be. I've worked so hard not to be," I replied, my voice sharp. "And that library belonged to her."

"Bella..." I felt him moving towards me in his seat.

"Don't. Please." I wasn't sure what I was telling him not to do, or what I was begging for. I only knew that I couldn't handle anything he was about to say. My eyes shot to his face, freezing him in his seat. He didn't lean to touch me. "That girl was naive. She was scared and angry..."

"I married her," he interrupted, his voice soft with a bare hint of indignation. "I loved her."

The past tense made me cringe, but it was all I could hear.

"But you don't anymore," I stated simply, ignoring the hard jolting thud of my heart for a single beat.

I didn't realize it had sounded like a challenge until his eyes snapped to mine.

I didn't realize I had _meant_ it as a challenge until I felt the sinking in the pit of my stomach at his blank expression.

I looked back at him, trying to see any hint. Searching desperately for some clue, some tell, through the emptiness. Waiting for a single indication that his expression was forced, defensive.

All I could see was Edward looking back at me, reflecting nothing, and the blank clarity of someone whose trust had been absolutely shattered.

I felt the weight of hopelessness in that moment, as I understood something very suddenly.

Maybe he loved me still, maybe he didn't, but he would never say it again.

He would never admit to it.

Because when it came to loving me, I would always throw it back in his face. I was doing it now. I had made abundantly clear that the rules of decency, of humanity, did not apply to us. And if there were no rules, there was no reason for him to ever trust me.

I could see us here forever.

One of us always forcing, one of us always resisting.

Hands locked in each other's hair.

_You let go first._

I turned away, suffocating in his silence.

My eyes focused sharp on the asphalt of the road in front of us. Not to the building that had lead me here, not to his face that was unbearable in that moment.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I said after a long time. "I shouldn't have..."

My voice died in my throat, swallowing around a lump that made it impossible to speak those words, to finish that sentence or even the thought.

So I remained motionless, as silent as he was, staring forward, face flushed, with my teeth pressed hard into my lip.

We sat for a long time in that truck, in front of that library.

So long that clouds began to roll over the sun, covering the town in the dim grey light that meant everything was back to normal.

Things were as they should be.

I hated it.

Things should _not_ be like this.

I wanted to take Edward by the hand and lead him into that library behind me, maybe prove to him that I could still be the girl he had loved. More hard evidence, the way we had painted that goddamned house. The way I had tried to hide my fall, the way I had held a job, the way I had kissed him in his office when it was my idea and on the porch when it was his.

Somewhere inside me, though, I knew it was useless.

The moment had passed and I couldn't get it back, snatching at my words and the air and the way he had smiled at me this morning.

He was shutting down right in front of me.

I glanced at the time, helpless, seeing that it was almost noon.

I hadn't seen my father yet today, and the prospect warmed me slightly against the shaking chill of my revelation.

My father still loved me, against all logic and reason, and perhaps he would know what to do, what to say.

At least seeing him would give me a chance to be away from Edward, to forget for a time, to regain my strength.

"Let's go back," I said quietly, ignoring the other way those words could be taken.

We could never go back.

I watched my hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles slowly turning to white and holding. I made no move to put the truck into gear.

I needed to get away from him almost as much as I needed to keep him here, with me, for as long as I could.

His movement was both sudden and slow at the same time. There was his hand, without warning, closing over mine in an instant, fingers pressing on my fingers, clenching tight to the steering wheel.

I turned my head slowly to him, but his eyes were trained on my hand.

On the rigid grip keeping us here.

Slowly, so carefully, I felt him pry my fingers one by one, straightening them until they were resting and limp in his palm. I could feel the new callouses on his hand from the summer, rough under my skin, like friends now.

My palm was rough to match.

Then, my breath jerked into my lungs in a fluttering gasp as he lifted my hand to his face quickly and pressed his lips to my fingers.

Only then did he look at me, with a small quiet smile.

He released my hand and I put the truck in gear silently.

He watched me the whole drive back to the house, eyes burning against my skin, so calm but sending my heart into a frantic rapid rhythm.

When I pulled into the drive and pulled the key from the ignition, I allowed myself to look at him.

He looked back at me without a word.

Then I saw his eyes flicker to some movement outside, over my shoulder.

He turned to ice before my eyes.

His mouth was tight, his eyes hardened to stone. Color drained from him cheeks and just as suddenly as his focus had shifted it was back on me with an urgent intensity. There was a fear in his eyes, a worry I couldn't understand, and I didn't know if it was for me or for himself.

Brows furrowed, I forced my eyes away from his expression and turned to look over my shoulder to the porch outside, just as I heard him breathe my name.

I saw her then.

Wordlessly, I opened the truck door and stepped onto the drive, possessed, as if the glass that separated us may have created some kind of mirage.

Maybe she wasn't real.

But the expression that I had seen on Edward's face, the desperate way he had said my name, told me she was.

Nessie Black was standing on my porch.

I felt the metal and glass of the truck against my back, my palms pressing flat and hard.

I heard the other door open and slam closed as Edward emerged.

I heard his rapid steps moving towards me, or towards her.

And then there was a crack of thunder and the skies opened up on all of us.


End file.
